13 minute read
THE FAST & THE FURIOUS: ORANGE RIVER DRIFT
WE TOOK NIC SYMES, A MIDLANDS TROUT GUY, AND SENT HIM OFF ON HIS FIRST ORANGE RIVER DRIFT WITH X-FACTOR ANGLING (XFACTORANGLING.CO.ZA), TO LEARN HOW TO CATCH YELLOWS AND TO FAIL AND TO, HOPEFULLY, EVEN WIN A LITTLE. THE GOOFY BASTARD CAME BACK WITH A GRIN PLASTERED TO HIS FACE. HERE’S WHY.
Photos. Nic Symes, Marco Grobler, Derrick Belling, Ruhan Kruger
Iput the bum in ‘trout-bum’, so a trip like this is an extravagance I’m not accustomed to.
“Fancy having a crack at some largies on the Orange River? Dan and his team at X-Factor will teach you everything you need to know. Get yourself there and they’ll sort out the rest.”
I’d only ever seen them in pictures so, when the editor of this magazine called me up with such an enticing offer, the answer was always going to be a resounding “Hell yes!” Little did I know how much I’d have to learn and unlearn over the five days’ fishing that lay ahead. Up to this point my fly-fishing experience was limited to trout, scaly, barbel and smallmouth yellowfish. When Dan sent me on my way with a boot full of the heaviest rods and flies I’d ever laid hands on, I knew this was going to be a different bag altogether. He snuck a Euro Nymphing rig in there too. More on that later…
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ‘99, wear sunscreen.
Vioolsdrif, in the northern Namaqua region of South Africa seems an odd place to go fly fishing, especially for someone accustomed to the lush environs of the KwaZuluNatal Midlands.
After a solid 14 hours on the road from my little appropriation of nature on the Braamfontein Spruit, I was struck by how little effect the vast waters of the Orange River seem to have on the landscape here. Thin strips of shrubbery flank its banks, dramatically overshadowed by skeletons of ancient mountains rising on either side, their topsoil and vegetation sandblasted away by millennia of howling winds, their rocky innards burnt black by the sun. Back-casting 7- and 9-weight rods all day in these harsh conditions isn’t for everyone, as our day one dropout might attest to. Factor 50 was the first thing I packed. Upon arrival at Vioolsdrif Lodge, a last South African oasis on the Namibian border, I was greeted by Tony, the proprietor, with warm handshakes and a cold beer. After a thorough briefing by our guides Ruhan, Kyle (“Kallie”), Marco and Damian, and support crew William and Justin, we tucked into dinner and hit the hay – the last aircon and cotton sheets we’d feel for five days. Day One: “You’re going to do a lot of casting…”
After my 5am resurrection, I scoffed down a quick breakfast and we packed all our gear. An hour’s drive on the back of the Cruiser ( with a short pitstop to send last messages to our loved ones), was the last time we’d need to cover up for the cold. The excitement was palpable as we geared up and the crew packed the rafts. Caked in sunscreen and wrapped up in layers like a Bedouin horde, we eased our vessels off the rocks into the murky waters and set off downstream.
Kyle, my guide for the first day’s drift, is from Harare. His formative fly-fishing years, like mine, were spent chasing rainbows, his though in Zimbabwe’s Eastern Highlands. He’s become proficient at catching a few more species since then. I guess his mission for the day was to give me (a heavyweight used to casting in the featherweight category), as much casting practice as possible with the big tackle before we got into proper largie waters.
By midday, my right hand was cramping and my arm felt like lead. The step up from my usual 4- and 5-weights to 7- and 9-weight rigs was cruel and unusual punishment. The mudfish that would have opened my account, were it not foul-hooked, might as well have been a freshwater bluefin by that stage, all 2lb of it. We were making sure I got into the upper nine hundreds in my pursuit of the fish of a thousand casts. As we snuck into a newly fishable run at the end of the day’s drift (thanks to the high waters), the sweet relief of my trusty 4-weight yielded one tiny smallmouth to prevent a complete blank of a day.
Day Two (Ruhan): “Vat Pappie!”
Have I mentioned the threat of sunburn yet? My early morning trout habits had my inner arm throbbing red before breakfast on the second morning. Wear sunscreen in this part of the world, even if the sun hasn’t crept over the mountains yet. Long sleeves and my neoprene gloves, usually reserved for mid-winter in the Midlands, would be vital for the remainder of the trip. I could have kissed him when my guide for the day, Ruhan, told me we’d be wading the cool waters of the rapids in search of smallmouths on the nymph.
On our way down to the rapids, Ruhan had me casting the 9-weight in search of any potential largemouths, my arm now becoming accustomed to the heavier outfit. Unfortunately, all we encountered was a morbidly depressed barbel not quite taking my fly and, I swear, sighing forlornly as it sunk back down to its bed at the river bottom. I’ve entered dentists’ rooms with more enthusiasm.
Ruhan, the head guide, is from Limpopo and is the kind of guy who’d fish for koi in a restaurant pond. His enthusiasm for all things piscatorial is infectious, so he was as stoked as I was when he put me into a whack of smallmouths ranging from 10cm to 40cm in the fast rapids that afternoon. With my numbers up, and beginning to get a feel for what the Orange River had in store for me, I hit the hay smiling.
“We are not a couple.”
My fellow guests on the trip, Chris Binnington and Derrick Beling, have been fishing together for over a decade, and between them have fished the locations and caught the fish most of us have only dreamed of. Being regaled with tales of metre-long GT’s, behemoth barbel, ill-advised casts to Florida Keys flats milkfish and cases of mistaken sexual preferences (“a many beers story”) around the campfire every night, was a real treat. You’d have to travel a long way to find two finer fishermen and gentlemen, and sharing the river with them was at times like having two additional guides. They make the pilgrimage to Vioolsdrif twice a year – a testament to the quality of the location, guides and overall experience.
Day Three: “This fly is buggered.” (I didn’t say “buggered.”)
Having chatted tactics with the brains trust over lunch the previous day, I had spent the evening tying up a couple of my own Zonker/Clouser type flies to be used in pursuit of my elusive, first largie. Today, apparently, was when we were due to enter proper largemouth yellowfish territory. After a short drift from our campsite, Damian, a Vioolsdrif local and my day three guide, beached us on a sandbank on the South African side of the river, and we began fishing our way down to a blackened rockface, undercut by ominously swirling waters which he assured me would hold what we were looking for. It took less than ten minutes for him to be proved right. I’d never felt such power on a fly rod before, my retrieved line screaming back into the water as the mighty fish surged for the rocks below us. It took mere seconds to realise that my line had balled into what could only be called a gorilla’s fist knot at my feet. The fish was too strong for me to buy us time. Our hearts sank as the knot hit my first eye and the hook popped. Damian took it personally when I lost that fish. We conducted a quick assessment of my tippet (“fine”) and fly (“buggered”). Superglue, instead of varnish, should be applied generously at multiple stages of the tying process to survive the brutish waters, rocks and fish here and I decided to tie on the last of my creations. We picked up the pieces of my broken heart, fished on, and Damian soon had me into an oxymoron. It was a small largie (only 3 or 4lb), the first I’d ever seen, and hopefully not the last! Lunch was spent tying more flies on the rocks, to be blindfished fruitlessly as we made our way down to some fastflowing rapids for my first attempt at Euro Nymphing. The technique didn’t make a great first impression, to be honest. It felt like stalking tiny coastal rock pools with a stick of bamboo. How could this way of fishing possibly yield anything bigger than live bait?
Day Four (Ruhan): “Vat weer Pappie.”
So, I was wrong about Euro Nymphing. Sue me.
Ruhan and I spent the morning session wading the riffles in front of our campsite, dabbling the nymphs at our feet and hauling in an entire playground of smallmouths between 10 and 40cm in length. I’d always believed that no self-respecting fish would stay anywhere near a wading fisherman. I may have to try the technique on the Mooi River in Natal …
The remainder of the day was spent unsuccessfully blindcasting all the best-looking lies in search of something more substantial than an oxymoron. Poor Ruhan had his work cut out for him backtracking up some fast waters to retrieve my fly from branches and rocks (hidden or otherwise) on more than one occasion. It was windy, okay?)
Day Five (Marco): “Let the reel do the work.”
My final morning session with Marco, a lifelong friend of Ruhan and possibly the most eager guide of the bunch (hard to tell – fishing truly is life for these gents), began the way day four had ended. The largies simply wanted nothing to do with us. As the sun beat down, we approached the massive 8km pool we’d have to cross before our final stop at the weir.
We were almost as relieved as the guides when the little two-stroke fired up, saving us four hours in travelling time. Communal lunch, beers, war-stories and “mother’s milk” – Derrick and Chris’ delicious Aeropress coffee with Amarula – were enjoyed on the lashed-together rafts as the guides rested their weary backs, shoulders and eyelids.
Upon reaching the weir, we rigged up for a final Euro Nymphing session as the crew packed the gear for the ride back to the lodge. Marco led me to a fast-flowing tributary below the weir and had me dabble a team of nymphs virtually at my feet. After a few warm-ups of small to average-sized fish, I had a hugely aggressive take. Lifting my rod gently brought forth a yellowfish so small, I was amazed it was able to lift the weight of the tiny tungsten beads.
The next flick of my line enticed a different kind of beast altogether though. A gentle take and turn to catch the current, and the slab took off. Like a fool, I lifted my palm to the reel in an attempt to slow it down, the line instantly cracking like a shot as my leader and flies disappeared into the torrent, still attached to the trophy smallmouth. Ten minutes and a new leader later, I carbon-copied that failure. My trout habits were costing me dearly in these fast waters. Big school is tough. I couldn’t hide my disappointment as Marco pointed out the transport vehicle that was to take us home trundling around the cliffs towards us.
Back at the vehicle, I learned that Ruhan would be bringing his own vehicle back in a couple of hours. I couldn’t pass on one last chance to land a decent smallmouth. Back in the same spot, and with my spare hand deep in my pocket, I was lucky to get just that. Once again, the fish took slowly and circled towards me before catching the current and taking off like a steam train downstream. Thankfully I managed to keep my sweaty palm away from the screaming reel this time, and almost collapsed in relief when Marco was able to net the fish a solid 25 minutes later. I’m still smiling.
THE TAKEAWAYS
The 14-hour drive home to Johannesburg gave me plenty time to ruminate on what I’d learned about fishing for big yellows on fast waters in such a hot, dry and windy place so, if you’ll indulge me: 1. Did I tell you to wear sunscreen? No less than Factor 50 will do, even if you’re tan as boot leather. The sun hits differently here. 2. Get used to casting big rods and heavy flies in even heavier winds. Make sure your back-cast is solid or, better yet, learn to cast with your wrong hand (my New Year’s fishing resolution). 3. Euro Nymphing taught me that big fish aren’t nearly as frightened of you as you might think. Dabble around your feet , the rewards could be immense. 4. Keep your palm away from your reel. Some of these fish are big, and they’re all moving fast (except, perhaps, for that morose barbel). Adjust your drag accordingly. 5. If you’re tying your own flies, do so with lashings of superglue. The fast waters, abundant rocks and powerful fish will make short work of them otherwise. 6. Pack less clothing than you think you need. You’ll jump into the water to cool down often, and be dry again before you’re back in the raft. What’s still wet at the end of the day will dry on the campsite’s guy-ropes overnight. 7. Accept that you’ll do a LOT more casting than catching. Appreciate the company you’re keeping and the astonishing surroundings you find yourself in. If you can’t, five days on the Orange River might be too much for you.
SHOP THE MISSION
Vision Hero Nymphing Rod
JMC Visio Light Euro line
JMC Kamoufil 0.20 leader material with Soldarini two tone hi vis mono
TroutHunter
Fluoro
Guideline Reach fly reel All tackle available at xfactorangling.co.za
LESOTHO CAMP X-FA Orange River Drift 6 nights drifting on the mighty Orange River targeting big largemouth and smallmouth yellowfish. X-FA Remote Lesotho Camp 4 fully-catered days of guided worldclass trout fishing and tented camping in a remote area of Lesotho.
X-FA Wild Barotse Tiger Drift Safari 6 nights drifting down 60km of pristine water targeting tiger fish up to 20lbs as well as the elusive Upper Zambezi yellowfish
BAROTSELAND DRIFT ORANGE RIVER DRIFT
