11 minute read
RHODES TRIP
EASTERN CAPE TROUT
RHODES TRIP
IF YOU’RE INTO TROUT AND YOU LIVE IN SOUTH AFRICA, YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE PILGRIMAGE TO RHODES, AS PIERRE JOUBERT AND HIS MATES DISCOVERED WHEN THEY MADE THE JOURNEY TO THE MOUNTAINS OF THE EASTERN CAPE.
Early in the new year, I started a WhatsApp group with the opening message: “I really need to go to Rhodes.” While I’ve never been there myself, the tales and photos of perfect pastoral streams and immeasurable miles of fishable water have gripped my imagination since I was a kid. It was time to put a peg in the ground.
A couple of months later, Wit Blits pulled up at my place in Paarl at the crack of dawn, her small petrol engine purring with anticipation of what lay ahead. Kyle, on the other hand, was less optimistic once he saw my gluttonous supply of fishing equipment and booze that had, somehow, to fit in the back of the van. That morning, needless to say, some tough choices were made. We met up with the rest of our group on a farm between Barkly East and Lady Grey. Carlo the ice skater, which is a story for another day, and Rob, the country singer. They had fished the Karringmelk Spruit the day before and tales of more than 100 fish in a morning had Kyle and me frothing like two mad dogs. We had to get on the scoreboard, even if we only had an hour or two of light left.
Threedrifts
Rods set up, waders on, and a couple of cold yeasts packed, we set forth. Kyle treated us to some freshly burnt CDs for the trip (yes, we still rock CDs). Inserted disc two and selected track four. The characteristic twang and rhythmic pulse of Run Through the Jungle by Creedence Clearwater Revival elevated the excitement levels to the max. We had arrived.
The four of us dropped down into a small valley where the river cuts through the farm. It wasn’t long before trout started rising everywhere and, soon after finding the correct caddis pattern, all of us were in with good numbers.
I remember spotting a couple of small fish hammering adult mayflies off the surface. They reacted positively to my fly but wouldn’t stick. They were way too small, or like the choir on the bank suggested, I’m kak at catching fish. I flung the fly back to the boys and asked them to put something on the end of my line that would catch something decent: the logical choice – a black Woolly Bugger.
Now, what always blows my mind is how well a large fish can hide itself, even in the shallowest water. I chucked the fly into this tiny trickle, and after the third strip, I was in with my best river fish of the trip.
Left: Carlo de Castro with a perfect bow caught on a big-ass RAB
Kyle Knight working a side stream inlet on the upper Bokspruit
Diepspruit
We spent the following two days fishing the Diepspruit. If I could choose one river to fish again, the day before I die, this would be it. The river structure constantly changes. One moment you’re picking fish just off the edge of a pasture’s bank, and the next you’re trapped in a deep gorge where time and trouble seem to forget you. The number of fish we saw was staggering. We casually walked past an extremely shallow run with our eyes fixed on the first pool of the day. Glancing to my right, I saw a fish hovering in water at most three inches deep. It was feeding in broad daylight, completely unaware of our presence. A quick round of Rock-Paper-Scissors, and it was my shot. I drifted a size 14 hopper over its head, and it didn’t flinch. After the second cast, it veered off slightly to the right but kept on feeding. Kyle took the next cast. A lekker parachute mayfly tied Gordon van der Spuy style, with CDC and all. Nothing. Like they say, not even an utter. My next attempt, in the form of a small black Klinkhammer, also got the middle finger. After three flies in such shallow water, the fish kept going about its business. Kyle’s following approach was more daring, and it paid off. The first time the chunky Tabanas skated over the fish, it reacted and murdered the fly.
Bokspruit
We left for Rhodes early on the fourth day of the pilgrimage, and seeing that old Wit Blits was so heavily loaded, Carlo and Rob put foot to make up time. Our destination was only around 80km away, but we still had to make a turn in Rhodes itself to book our beats for the remainder of the week and pick up half a lamb for the evenings’ braai and Kyle’s legendary potjie. We estimated that we would arrive at around lunchtime, but how wrong we were. The last stretch was slow going, and we were already tired out by the previous three day’s hard fishing. I reckon all that pulled us through was that scratched Bruce Springsteen CD with I’m On Fire put on repeat. After what felt like forever, we finally turned into the old farm gate; we were there. Bothwell. If you’re looking to unplug yourself from the world and sort some shit out in your head, this is the place. No electricity, no cellphone reception, and a stone’s throw away from a healthy trout river. Living in such an elementary place forces you to follow a different rhythm. Here you’re woken up by the sound of birds, and you only start fishing once the warm sun hits the water. Time moves along at a different pace here.
On the Bok, I witnessed with my own eyes what an incredible fly the original design of RAB is. Time and again this fly out-fished everything else throughout the entire day. Slow water, fast water, pocket water, or pools - it slayed. And, to me, it seemed the wonkier it looked, the better it fared.
The Rifle
The Rifle is a tributary of the Bokspruit. We booked the two upper-most beats for the day, thinking we’d take a chance seeing that the river levels were relatively low. You get sporadic bursts of signal on the road, so everyone quickly used this to touch base at home or the office. Carlo even made a quick sale while wearing waders and sipping a beer – what a tough life we live. Let me tell you about the upper Rifle; it has some of the most incredible pocket water you’ll ever find, and the pools are, well, literally filled with trout. We were fishing a long pool with a steep embankment on the right-hand side and trees on the left. After pickup up some smaller fish in the tail, we spotted some nice fish further up in the pool. Carlo, being the gentleman that he is, insisted I make the move. There was a lateral line running through the head where bare white bedrock and gravel met. And then I saw it. A big fish was holding on the dark bottom, right in the shade, occasionally breaking its cover to eat something over in the sun. This was a unit. I managed to put a cast right on top of its pip. Thinking I must have spooked it, I started lifting the rod. Then, suddenly, the small Klinkhammer disappeared under the surface, and I was on. Immediately one could tell this was a fish of sizeable proportions. The sheer weight and raging pulses as it shook its head were completely different. I had it on for a good minute or so but, let me tell you, rainbows can be complete pricks. As I unclipped my net, the fish swam straight at me and passed through my legs. That nifty old Klinkhammer is so bloody effective at hooking things, it got caught on my trousers, and bam – the fish was gone!
Sterkspruit
Getting access to good water on the Sterk proved to be a little tricky, and that’s primarily thanks to us fly anglers. The Oom whose farm we were fishing on had given us special permission. Usually his land is closed for public access because, previously, some anglers made a fire and left all their booze bottles lying around. Idiots. Rob and I decided to trek about two kilometres downriver, which we estimated would give us enough water to fish for a day. We started fishing at two long pools sitting right behind each other. I didn’t move more than ten metres in the first hour and a half. The fishing was bonkers. On dries, on nymphs, on streamers, you name it, and they’d eat it. Rob hiked upstream about 100 metres from where I was having the time of my life. While giggling like a little girl about all the crazy eats I was getting while skating a caddis on the surface, I heard a faint call. I paused, then, there it was again. Honestly, my initial thought was that Rob was hurt. Chucking my backpack off my shoulders, my camera off my chest, and my rod on to the bank, I turned to run. For a second, I hesitated and decided maybe I should take my camera. Breaking the crest of the hill at full speed (well, this is a relative term, I guess), I could see Rob holding his net in the water and a big tail flapping on the surface. A stunner of a fish measuring 47 cm caught off a densely overgrown bank; it doesn’t get much better than that.
Loch Ness
We decided to mix things up a little on our last day and fish a stillwater aptly known as Loch Ness. Here’s another road you shouldn’t take for granted. Its steep gradient and unlevel surface make for very slow going. At one stage, I thought Carlo’s Duster was going to do a backflip. I just took a sip from a cold Zamalek and listened to Uncle Lucius doing their thing and hoped for the best – what else can you do?
Poplar-lined banks offer great cover for fish.
We arrived at the dam alive and soon we were all standing in a line, casting our flies in the same direction. The wind was pumping. ‘Did it bother us?’ No. ‘Why?’ I hear you ask. Because the fishing was ridiculous. Kyle was the first one in with a proper fish weighing between five and six pounds. It was a short stubby thing with broad shoulders and incredible colouring. Shortly after that, I too caught a decent fish of about the same size. All fished extremely slowly in the channels between the weed beds.
I took some pics of a solid fish Rob had landed, and while putting the camera back into my chest pack, I just heard: “Holy f$!k!” The fish didn’t take line but, judging by the splashes on the surface and the size of the tail, this was big.
By now, freezing his nuts off because he’d left his waders at home, Rob finally netted the big girl after a nerve-racking fight, and oh was she beautiful. Now, I’ve been fortunate enough to have been on a good number of trips in my life and firmly believe that the success of these endeavours relies on a relatively simple recipe. Good food (that’s why we’re friends with Kyle Knight, owner of The Shop in Seapoint), good friends and good music. The music sets the tone for the entire trip. It goes without saying that you also need to catch a fish or two during the expedition. Cherish a group of good friends who pull in and make a memorable mission. Treasure these people, and those memories with them, more than gold.
RHODES SHOP THE MISSION
Skout Sun Hoodie - Made right here in South Africa for our conditions.
Ortlieb Aqua Zoom Camera Chest Pack - Keeps your camera dry and protected
Stroft GTM Tippet - Reliable and supple tippet material
JBL Charge 3 Bluetooth Speaker - I pack this thing before I pack my undies. The Mission Yella Fella Trucker - Basically a great looking, wearable fly patch
Hoya Circular Polarised Filter - Crunches out that extra bit of feeling from every image.
