MAKHULU BAAS’S LAST STAND

A SELF-CONFESSED IRRELIGIOUS MAN OF SCIENCE, CONRAD BOTES STRUGGLES TO RECONCILE THAT WORLD VIEW WITH THE MAGIC, BIG-FISH JUJU HE FOUND IN ONE VERY SPECIFIC MAKE AND MODEL OF CAP.

Jan Verboom

Icame to fly fishing quite late in life. After spending my youth spearfishing, bodyboarding, and fishing conventional tackle, it was my older brother Herman (aka Harry) who opened the doors of fly fishing for me when I was in my 30s. He’d relocated from Cape Town to Gauteng when we were in our 20s and quickly became seduced by the wonders of the Vaal River and its yellows.

Luckily for me, Harry was a great tutor and, though I started late, I learned the ins and outs of the fly world very rapidly. I began on the Cape streams but, when the first summer arrived, I was catching my first leeries (garrick) on fly. Harry was always there with some advice and a pearl of wisdom. We were holidaying in Struisbaai when I caught the leervis, and Harry was not impressed with my gear.

“Jirre boet! You cannot wade out onto the bricks wearing flip-flops. That T-shirt looks ridiculous, and wat de fok is that on your head? A bucket hat?! Nee man!”

Harry taught me that real fly fishermen wear fly fishing apparel. The message was clear. Don’t wear tekkies on the streams. Ditch the Ray-Bans, get a technical shirt, and a chest pack for your flies and tippets. And for god’s sake, wear a FLY FISHING CAP!

On that last point, Harry shared a big secret. He told me about the best fly fishing cap in the world, the Simms Double Haul. I had never seen anything like it. Eight slim panels, stitched together length-wise back to front, gave me the most comfortable fit I’ve ever experienced. It had an extra-long visor, extra-wide brim and was just extra befok on all fronts. I was sold.

And then came the kicker regarding care instructions from Harry.

“Listen here boetie, you must never, NEVER, wash your hat. Never. It will, like, kill its mojo.”

As the years rolled on my gear and my fishing kept evolving. I quickly graduated to saltwater and when I did spend time on the sweet water, it was for the underdogs – smallmouth bass and Clannies. I tried different rods and reels until I arrived at the point where I was happy with the gear I had. Flies are an ever-evolving affair, and each season I will try something new for a given species. I guess that’s the nature of fly fishing. You evolve. The one thing that stayed constant through the years was the orange Simms Double Haul cap.

As a man of science, it bothered me greatly that I started to believe that the hat brought me luck. But there was evidence stacked in the hat’s favour. Once I went to the Breede River mouth for a weekend and forgot the hat at home. I blanked. The next trip I was diligently wearing the hat and caught my personal best, a dusky kob of over a metre.

The cap’s reputation grew from strength to strength. In 2016 John Travis and I decided that we wanted to fish Gabon, and duly convinced Rob Scott of Tourette Fishing (now African Waters) to put together a fly fishing-only trip to Sette Cama. On the second morning I was cradling my first big West African tarpon, hooked and landed from the beach. The trip was legendary. John also landed a tarpon and Arno van der Nest caught a very big poon, minutes after mine was released. For some people catching a big tarpon off the beach would be a box ticked, an experience you can treasure and from which one can move on. But that first tarpon only cemented my obsession with them and I’ve been back to Gabon repeatedly.

Soon after the first trip, I realised that my original Simms cap had reached the end of the road. I went to Frontier Fly Fishing in Johannesburg and bought a new one, while the old one went into their “hall of fame” collection of used hats. It’s still hanging there today.

With a fresh cap on my pip I was on my way to Gabon yet again and I nervously wondered if it would have the same mojo as the old one? To coax the hat into doing its thing,

I had a special embroidered patch made that I had sewn onto the front of it, above the logo Sette Cama 2018. The gamble paid off. On the last night of the trip, after losing eight tarpon, I landed the fish of a lifetime. The cap was duly christened “Makhulu Baas” – big boss. Years came and went, and Makhulu Baas was always there when I expected shit to go down.

About a year ago, I realised that Makhulu Baas should retire and I started looking for an apprentice. With shock and horror, I discovered that Simms had discontinued the Double Haul eight panel cap. I combed the interwebs for a replacement but it was too late. Most stockists of Simms gear were sold out of this specific item. As my latest trip to Gabon drew nearer, I realised I had no choice but to give Makhulu Baas a last chance to bring glory to House Botes.

Before we departed I sat Makhulu Baas down for a serious pep talk. “Listen here buddy, this is it. Tarpon or bust. No excuses. If not, I will toss you into the roiling black waters of the Atlantic so you can return to swim with the very poons from whence this obsession came. I fokkin mean it!”

Back in civilization after spending two weeks in the jungle, I wrote this message to my Feathers and Fluoro buddies.

Back in Libreville and home tomorrow. Our trip was super-difficult. Gabon is a tough place to fly fish because of the size of the systems, and on top of that we were thrown serious curve balls.

The surf formations change continuously and this year there were no sandbars on the outside or gutters where we could fish. The waves came in and broke right on the shore which made it impossible to fly fish. Even the spin fishermen struggled and gave up on it. This was a major bummer as many of our tarpon from previous trips were caught in the surf and from the beach. Then, on top of that, it hadn’t rained for about 25 days and it’s supposed to be the wet season. You want the rain because it brings the ocean-side fish into the river.

Despite that, we each got a poon, jumped a few more. But we didn’t see them rolling at dusk and dawn like we had on previous trips. We also both got big threadfin over a metre. And we got lots of smaller threads, jacks, grunters etc., and played with rats and mice in the river at low tide. But the fishing deteriorated to such a degree that the French spinning guys left the camp two days early. We stuck it out and tried till after midnight on the last night, but didn’t connect with that big poon.

Last morning the Frenchie said we should go for a drift. I was sceptical as we were already busy breaking camp. And my goal was catching that poon off the beach, not from a boat. But it turned out to be a magical experience, the tide was pushing which meant the drift out of the river was slow. That forest is just magical, the most beautiful place on Earth (for me).

As we drifted out towards the beach at midday, Frenchie spotted a small black triangle on the glassy surface. Soon we spotted more… The tips of tarpon dorsal fins. Suddenly the boat was surrounded on all sides by a huge school of tarpon. Chaos ensued. MC foul-hooked a 60kg class poon on his first cast. I had two or three shots, but the poons rolled over each other to look at my fly. It looked like they were playing and pushing at the fly. Crazy. It was so beautiful to see. MC was getting spooled, so Frenchie sounded the engine to follow the fish and when he did they were gone in a second. Luckily the hook pulled on MC’s fish after about 10 minutes, so we went back to look for them. And, obviously, they were gone.

We did another short drift, and eventually Frenchie said, lines up, we must finish packing and head back to Port Gentil. MC and Frenchie were smoking as I stripped in my last cast.

And then. Bang. Ten metres from the boat I was moered by a big poon. The thing raced off with such speed, it’s difficult to describe. But the fly line snagged on a guide and parted like a gunshot. Thanks for coming.

As we started packing the horizon darkened. We finished as the first drops came down. And then the heavens opened and it poured down until we were back in Port Gentil.

I’m not sorry I lost that fish, the experience of the big school of tarpon that came to dance is something I will never forget.

It’s winter in Cape Town now, and every time I look at Makhulu Baas retired to a spot on the wall above my fly tying desk, I’m taken back to that beach in Gabon, the tropical heat and a boat surrounded by tarpon.

PS: Dear Simms. Please bring back the Double Haul eight panel cap. Makhulu Baas needs an apprentice…