Cliff Hangers

SALTWATER FLY FISHING MAVERICK JIMMY EAGLETON CLIMBS FOR A LIVING ON OFFSHORE OIL RIGS. SO WHEN IT COMES TO ACCESSING HARDTO-REACH GULLIES, CAVES, AND CLIFFS TO TARGET SMALL YET FEISTY SALTWATER SPECIES THAT MOST OF US IGNORE, HE’S IN HIS ELEMENT.

Photos. Ryan Janssens

In freshwater it’s referred to as micro fly fishing. In the small, intimate, crystal- clear Cape streams between small waterfalls and mountain-size boulders, fly anglers pursue indigenous species like sawfin and Cape kurper, or exotic aliens like smallmouth bass and beautifully marked rainbow and brown trout.

In the Western Cape saltwater scene, Conrad Botes was one of the first to popularise fly fishing for blacktail as a cool and shameless act, and now a lot more salty fly anglers find relief from chasing difficult species or supersized specimens by going light in the salt. Sometimes it’s a second rod fallback when your dreams don’t come true. Other times it’s just a light, single-minded affair.

Often, when fly fishing in the Western Cape salt for bigger species like yellowtail, leervis, or kob, the results do not justify the effort and soon you find yourself suffering from a mild case of the fishing blues. That’s when I ditch my yellowtail gear for a 5-weight and hit the cliffs at Cape Point. Remember what it was like when you were a kid with a hand line trying for anything and everything in the rock pools and gullies? This is just that, but the grownup version in the form off rock climbing over water. I call it deep water solo climbing. There is no need for climbing gear or a climbing partner to assist you. A miscalculation in ability will simply send you plummeting into the water to test your swimming skills.

You may be thinking, this is just a grown man catching silly fish in a reckless way. But for me it’s not. A lifetime working as a climber on oil rigs has honed my skills for this. Every route is systematically worked out, with climbing gear, to subconsciously map the way in and out. Once you’ve done it a few times, the way of least resistance becomes clear.

There is always a nice balance between nervousness, excitement, and eagerness to have a go at this kind of fishing without the climbing gear. Like a perfectly timed cast, it can take a few tries before you execute the route smoothly and effortlessly. By shifting your bodyweight between foot rests and hand grips, it becomes a rhythmic vertical dance. Some grips on the rock face are familiar and reassuring, like shaking an old friend’s hand. Just like a good foot rest, you know where you stand.

The goal is to access gullies, caves, and undercuts that have never been fished before. The size of the fish is of no consequence. This kind of pursuit is all about curiosity, so your ego is best left at home.

I always pack minimally: just a 5-weight rod and small box of flies with 8lb leader and a stripping basket for the leadcore line. The space in the backpack is reserved for anything that my Jetboil stove can warm up. The first thoughts that go through my mind when I go assover-end into the water are, “What went wrong?” and then, “How good will that warm cup of coffee be?”

Fly fishing the cliffs and caves is a mini-adventure with an all-out sensory overload. The waves are loud when you are literally standing in them, and the force when they collide with the cliffs is frightening. The fish might be small, but the contrasts of where you are and what you’re doing is huge. For me it’s always surprising to think that I am less than a hour’s drive out of Cape Town’s CBD, standing at the bottom off a sheer vertical cliff or inside a cave with deep water right at my toes.

From the first cast, the bite is usually on with some hand-size models being landed. I always hope for a bigger one to put a stop to the child’s play. A big jutjaw (Parascorpis typus) is first prize, while a large cliffhanger bream (Pachymetopon blochii) is a more realistic target. Historically known as hottentot, restaurants have moved away from this racially-charged name and call this fish Cape bream. I prefer a much older Afrikaans name for the species, hangberger (cliffhanger), because it refers to the fish’s habit of frequenting rocky ledges.

All the small cliffhanger bream are uniform in colour and body shape without reflecting hues, while bigger ones are more varied. From slender to short and chubby, some are chocolate brown, others are black and any shade in between. This all adds to the character of a trophy-size cliffhanger. But the one thing the big ones always have is a prominent eyebrow hump with a green tint.

Once you set the hook on one of these bigger specimens, there is a lot to contend with. Undercut currents, swaying kelp heads, white wash and backwash down from the cliffs. You can’t pull too hard and you can’t give too much line. To make things even more exciting, the big ones bite the same as the hand-size nibblers. Or it could be that the nibblers are drawing in the bigger fish. So you never know what’s coming once those nibbles start. Landing just one trophy cliffhanger with that distinct eyebrow hump with an emerald green tint, will have you sifting through the small ones with a smile and will provide plenty to focus on for days on end. Adding to that, there is a lot of surprising bycatch with the weirdest names like the “French mistress” Fransmadam (Boopsoidea inornata) and John Brown (Gymnocrotaphus curvidens). Both these bream species reach that magical 30cm size.

Some fish you will chase for years. Whether it’s a 1m kob, garrick, or kingfish. For me, it’s to get just one yellowtail off the bricks. Despite that goal, I have no regrets when they pass right in front of the cliffs and I only have the 5-weight rod. Having fun without the glory of big fish I consider a real superpower. It can be surprising how these mini-adventures with often-overlooked bream species can fill your fishing calendar. In summer it’s a nice remedy for fishing blues, but the real value of these bream is their willingness to feed during the winter months.

So have a go at the light side of saltwater, it doesn’t have to be on the wild side.