The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #4 by The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine

LESOTHO

THE LEGEND OF F#@K YOU VALLEY

THE LIFER

TOM SUTCLIFFE

STILLWATER TROUT WITH HERMAN BOTES

DJIBOUTI CALL

ROAD TRIPPING WITH FRED DAVIS

BOB CLOUSER

JONO SHALES

THE FIGHTER

THE ORIGINS OF A FLY

ISSUE 04 J U LY | A U G 2 0 1 7

FREE

THEMISSIONFLYMAG.COM

+ JAMES CHRISTMAS, A BOY IN A BOAT, THE GREEN MAMBA, LATEST GEAR, BEERS, BEATS AND MORE...

experience counts for everything Capt. Joel Dickey, a no-nonsense veteran guide and one of the most knowledgable and experienced anglers on the water. He calls Georgia home but can normally be found in Big Pine Key Florida chasing tarpon, bonefish and permit. Hardcore professionals like Joel are testing our products to the limit every day and push us in our pursuit to build truly great rods. Their knowledge, expertise, and understanding are passed to our craftsmen, who strive for perfection and uncompromising performance in every rod we make. To us, Joel and his fellow professionals are our unsung heroes. We salute you.

Introducing the new T&T Avantt and Exocett Series. remarkably light. extraordinarily strong.

est

19 6 9

T H E R O D YO U W I L L E V E N T UA L LY OW N

www.thomasandthomas.com HANDMADE IN AMERICA

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CONTENTS Cover: Stu Harley surveying the Valley of Screams. Photo: Micky Wiswedel

12 BOY IN A BOAT It might have taken its sweet time, but fly fishing is now ‘cool’. As Peter Coetzee writes, it wasn’t always that way. 14 HIGH 5S Mavungana Flyfishing’s Collen Tshabangu. 18 STILLWATERS RUN DEEP Enthralling and alluring, stillwaters are like kryptonite to Herman Botes. 26 DJIBOUTI CALL Triggers, geets and other undiscovered fishy treasures on the Horn of Africa with Fred Davis. 34 THE LEGEND OF F#@CK YOU VALLEY The friendship-testing browns and hard-fighting yellows of Lesotho’s Bokong river. 44 THE FIGHTER Jono Shales, the South African pioneer behind Exmouth Fly Fishing in Western Australia.

REGULAR FEATURES 04 Ed’s Letter 08 Wish List Fish 10 Beers & Beats 56 Salad Bar 60 Wands

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Payday 62 Shortcasts 64 Fluff 66 Reel Deal 68 The Lifer 70

“WHEN LEONARD FLEMMING OF FEATHERS & FLUORO SAYS THAT A PLACE IS AS GOOD IF NOT BETTER THAN NEW ZEALAND, YOU LISTEN. THROW IN THE FACT THAT IT IS ONLY ONE LONG CAR JOURNEY AWAY AND YOU TAKE NOTE.” - Tudor Caradoc-Davies PG 34

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

BOILING BUNNIES powdered milk added and voila, it appears, your coffee. Yet what you have in that sad cardboard cup (destined to live under your front seat for at least two months with the empty water bottles and the R5 coins and that late night croissant you thought your cousin’s kid ate), is so far removed from a coffee bean, that if you had the time or money to investigate it and set Carte Blanche on the trail, after three months Derek Watts would be looming there over a middle manager of an nondescript factory in smoggy Guangzhou, saying as only Derek does in capitals “AND AFTER ALL THAT, WE DISCOVERED WHAT EVERYONE KNEW ALL ALONG…IT’S NOT ACTUALLY COFFEE.”

GRHE

Zonker

Pot

Luc

I know. You think I am some kind of coffee snob, a doos, a schmuck, a stuck up tonsil or third-wave coffee twat. Maybe I am. Yet despite my hatred of Wimpy coffee, I still drink it. I drink it because I’m a loskop (absent-minded) and I often forget my thermos with real coffee that I dutifully made just before leaving at 4:30am yet somehow forgot with my net.

LET’S NOT PRETEND. Let’s not even entertain for one second the notion that Wimpy coffee is good. Nobody truly believes that when they take a sip at a petrol station and go “Aah.” They’re just looking for something to warm their innards on the frozen Eastern Cape highlands. Or, they just want something that will go with a smoke. We’re the victims here. The shills. The marks. Wimpy, whether through crafty advertising or inter-provincial ubiquity, have chiseled out a Pavlovian response in our national consciousness. Road trips = Wimpy coffee. It’s not quite flavourless because there’s a flavour of some sort there, but even that is dull and muted; a half-flavour, a stutter on your tastebud. Old dishwater sieved through your teenage jocks, it’s grey-brown, a river in flood blended with agricultural toxins. Even without sugar or sweeter, it’s sweet as if by osmosis. It’s served by middle-aged ladies getting by in slow motion, tumbleweed towns on highways and byways, arteries and aneurisms. I wager it probably comes from a machine stocked with a sachet of pre-mixed powder or syrup. Buttons are pushed, hot water, steam or

I drink it because everyone else does and I’m susceptible to peer pressure. I drink it because Red Bull in the morning, is a toxic warning. I drink it because when I go fishing, it’s inevitably early and if I’m driving I need it to stay awake. Not because it has any caffeine, we’ve established the absence of that already, but because it’s so ball-searingly hot, that the fear of the crappy plastic lid coming off and exploding across my crotch - as it has done on numerous occasions in the past - is enough to rev my adrenaline and get me going. One rabbit with a roadkill deathwish and my unborn children are at risk. Wimpy coffee I need you. I’m sorry. I…love you.

“I DRINK IT BECAUSE I’M A LOSKOP (ABSENT-MINDED) AND I OFTEN FORGET MY THERMOS WITH REAL COFFEE THAT I DUTIFULLY MADE JUST BEFORE LEAVING AT 4:30AM YET SOMEHOW FORGOT WITH MY NET.” 04

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WWW.THEMISSIONFLYMAG.COM

Marcel Terblanche’s Bushwhack Beetle on duty in Lesotho.

EDITOR Tudor Caradoc-Davies ART DIRECTOR Brendan Body CONTACT THE MISSION The Mission Fly Fishing Mag (PTY) Ltd 20 Malleson Rd, Mowbray, 7700, Cape Town, South Africa Info@themissionflymag.com www.themissionflymag.com

EDITOR AT LARGE Conrad Botes COPY EDITOR Ingrid Sinclair SALES brendan@themissionflymag.com 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 A SWIFT KICK IN THE NADS.

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CONTRIBUTORS #02 Feathers & Fluoro, Peter Coetzee, Fred Davis, Joshua Hutchins, James Christmas, Bob Clouser, Gordon van der Spuy, Collen Tshabangu, Herman Botes, Tom Sutcliffe, Tudor Caradoc-Davies. PHOTOGRAPHY #02 Allistair Wilson, Micky Wiswedel, Jörg Diekmann, Joshua Hutchins, Carl McNeil, Tom Sutcliffe, Gerhard Human, Jan Blumentritt, Fred Davis, Gareth Reid, Herman Botes, Stuart Harley, Jono Shales, Jan Bach Kristensen

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WISH LIST FISH

THE MURRAY COD With Joshua Hutchins of Aussieflyfisher

LURKING DOWN UNDER IN A FEW SELECT RIVERS, YOU MIGHT BE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND THESE INCREDIBLE, LONG-LIVED BEASTS. WE SPOKE TO RESIDENT MURRAY COD EXPERT AND GUIDE JOSHUA HUTCHINS FOR MORE.

David Karpul, 2017 South African Fly Fishing Nationals Individual winner getting goofy with a respectable Murray Cod

WHAT: With a mouth like Mick Jagger, an appetite like Michael Phelps and the size of Will Skelton, the Murray cod (Maccullochella peelii) is a massive Australian freshwater fish that can live for over 50 years, grows up to 1,5 metres and can weigh over 100 kilograms. They’re also critically endangered due to commercial overfishing in the mid 1800s. WHERE: The southeastern freshwater streams and lakes of Australia’s Murray-Darling basin. HOW: Hutchins says, “A surface strike from a Murray cod is explosive. A large surface fly popped across the water can quickly be demolished without any warning. And if you are not careful, a big bulldozer cod can have you tied up under a

log in no time. Cod often inhabit beautiful gorge-like country, and every expedition is an adventure. We throw large flies into likely water, and have at times been lucky enough to sight cast to large cruising fish. An 8 to 10-weight rod is essential to cast the large flies that resemble anything from fish, yabbies (freshwater crayfish), lizards, mice or even birds! Cod can be extremely fickle at times, but when the hit does come, it’s worth it. Floating and F/I fly lines are the most common for chasing Murray cod, along with 25 to 50-pound leader.” WHO: Surprisingly there are very few guides who chase Murray cod on fly in Australia. Hutchins, the owner and guide for www.aussieflyfisher.com is based two hours from Sydney, and guides for Murray cod during the peak season of December to early May. Follow him on Instagram @aussieflyfisher.

“AN 8 TO 10-WEIGHT ROD IS ESSENTIAL TO CAST THE LARGE FLIES THAT RESEMBLE ANYTHING FROM FISH, YABBIES (FRESHWATER CRAYFISH), LIZARDS, MICE OR EVEN BIRDS!” 08

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FODDER

BEERS & BEATS THE BEERS - BREWING THE REPUBLIC MIXED CASE

FANCY yourself a patron of the arts and a fan of beer? Well, here’s a chance to be both AT THE SAME TIME and go from wannabee Guggenheim to Gluggenheim/Dopafeller by supporting the Brewing the Republic documentary film project. Troye May of Brewing the Republic says, “Brewing the Republic is a documentary on the growth and excitement of craft beer in South

Africa. Our aim is to provide a visual scope of where we are as a beerloving nation. We want to showcase a handful of beers and breweries around the country, as well as speak to the passionate people who work behind their beers. There has never been a better time to drink beer in South Africa.” For their doccie, the Brewing the Republic team has visited around 40

of the 200-odd breweries nationwide, from the shiny and expensive to the handmade-in-a-garage types. In order to fund the final stages of the documentary, they are selling these fantastic, well priced mixed cases with participating breweries, League of Beers and Yuppiechef. R249 gets you a mixed case of six, R399 a mixed case of 12 and the knowledge that you did your bit for beer documentarians. Cheers to that. www.yuppiechef.com

THE BEATS

THE MISSION PLAYLIST - VOL 2 BY JOHN PIENAAR

DINOSAUR JR JUST LIKE HEAVEN

BUTTHOLE SURFERS PEPPER

THE NATIONAL THE SYSTEM ONLY DREAMS

ROOTS MANUVA RUN COME SAVE ME

PHOENIX J-BOY

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STONES ROSES SALLY CINNAMON

PUSCIFER CONDITIONS FOR

HATERS GONNA HATE, BUT AS PETER COETZEE FOUND, MORE OFTEN THAN NOT, THEY’LL COME AROUND TO SEEING THINGS YOUR WAY. Artwork Gerhard Human

by PETER COETZEE I looked around at FT3SA last night and noticed something. Fly fishing is now cool. It wasn’t always that way. In standard 5 I walked down to Vic Bay, fly rod in hand on the hunt for some baby musselcracker or black tail. While casting from the rocks, a few of the cool kids from my school who were surfing spotted me and spent the next few hours laughing and hurling insults across the water. Today, with fly fishing’s acceptance into the age of hashtags, flat peak caps and social media, that might seem ridiculous, but back then fishing was seriously uncool. While it was cool to do extreme sports and cool to fail at school, it was not cool to make little fish out of artificial fibres and spend your weekends looking for predators. As stubborn as I am and was, those insults had a marked effect on me as a kid. From that point on, I told no one that I fished, or fly fished. I skated too, quite well, and so when anyone pried about my weekend activities, I replaced the actual fishing mission with a fictional skating story, as short as possible to avoid cornering myself if questioned further. My half-pipe at home proved a fantastic alibi, along with the 40 or so stitches it provided over the years. Weekend war stories were crucial in those days. Years passed, my parents split and I eventually ended up in Knysna, to my delight. Knysna was the realm of Neil Hockley. He was an early hero of mine for a number of reasons, but most importantly his land-based skipjack missions and the use of artificial fibres in traditional tarpon flies. I went to the school of Flip Pallot and Herman Lucerne and their’s was a language I was fluent in. For the first time, in Neil, I managed to meet a South African who spoke it. Canvassing that man after hunting him down in the White Pages was petrifying to a 14-year-old, but it was a skill that would pay off handsomely later in life. It took phoning three Hockley families until

an old lady answered and confirmed there was a fishing Neil in the house. It must have been an odd exchange for a man in his 70s. A nervous young kid pretending to be confident asking if he would like to go fly fish the lagoon. He obliged to my delight and joined me on my little Angler 13 a few times. He was already frail, but incredibly knowledgeable and as kind a man as you’ll ever find. We never got skippies from my boat, but it was the catalyst for my early solo explorations of Knysna lagoon on my trusty Angler 13. My Knysna mates were a tight crew, and as we got older our attention moved from “skating” (fishing) to girls and vodka, and the results of mixing both, to our delight. For whatever reason we were given a lot of leeway and our excursions were extended in distance and time when we discovered the old steam train that ran to Plett and George, and the results of casting our proverbial girl nets wide. By the ninth grade we began driving (illegally of course), somehow convincing our parents that buying us beaten-up old rides would save them time and effort. We managed three cars between the group; all turquoise Toyotas. Mine had a tow hitch, which if anyone had bothered to look, was suspiciously worn for such a new install, increasingly so with every spring tide and weekend. It could also be started with an ice cream stick, which came in handy when the key went overboard. We would reassemble at school on Mondays and exchange stories. Our first cellphones, naughty SMS messages, school, but never did I ever tell anyone of the incredible leerie I got on a Lefty’s deceiver under the bridge or the grunter that had been ignoring my mud Charlies, nearly driving me insane. I didn’t need another Vic Bay incident. Now that women were involved the stakes were even higher. Years later, we all ended up in Cape Town, me via the USA and Australia and the others via the UK, but we were together again at last. Older, wiser, and less concerned with society and other people’s opinions of us. Intoxicated one night we

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reflected back on the Knysna days, and I came clean about my fishing. The story wasn’t that funny, but Brad was in almost hysterical laughter across from me. As it turned out, he’d also been fishing in those years and keeping it quiet. His alibi was Motocross, which worked even better to explain his sunglasses tan. His poison was artificial lures (not fly), but we both recalled seeing that other Angler 13 with the four-stroke and youngster at the helm. Whether it was the sheer boat traffic, our secrecy of what was considered an “uncool” pastime, or the protection of our spots, it somehow kept us from finding each other out. Having outed ourselves as fishermen, we soon combined forces off Cape Point; a place that absolutely terrified us. Brad also discovered something nasty about the big blue: sea sickness, and those first years involved an effortless trip out to the fishing grounds, soon after which Brad would pass out in discomfort. These missions have brought some leviathans to hand, but a memory that stands out more than any other was the hunt for our first snoek, rather unconventionally, on bait. To two 20-year-olds it might as well have been a sailfish, and a half-conscious Brad awoke to the sound of the ratchet as the fish ran, sardine in mouth. The two of us were screaming and high fiving as it got to the boat. I missed the gaff, hit the leader, and in a second it was gone. We were gutted, but worse was to come. Brad’s stomach had a treat in store. The puking seemed to induce the bowels, and, left with only the rag we wrapped the bait in and weak stomachs from the night before, sick Brad conceded defeat and wiped his derriere with a blood-soaked fish cloth over the gunnel and then rolled back on board and passed out. It’s probably my favourite offshore memory to date. My last trip to the Garden Route hid another gem. On walking the train bridge I spotted two of the surfers that had heckled me so aggressively in standard 5. Both of them were fishing.

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GUIDES

HIGH 5S A R A P I D F I R E C AT C H U P W I T H T H E B I G G U Y O F D U L L S T R O O M , M AV U N G A N A F LY F I S H I N G ’ S C O L L E N T S H A B A N G U Photos Gareth Reid

ollen Tshabangu is an institution in Dullstroom. Running clinics, teaching the ‘unteachables,’ or casting a full line to tricky fish; if it’s trout you want, he’s your man. 5 best things about Dullstroom 1) No one can predict the weather. 2) We can fish for trout all year round without any problems. 3) We have access to properties with dams and a stretch of a river. It’s possible to fish both in one day 4) There’s less crime, that’s for sure. Dullstroom is very much safe. 5) I get to meet different people from different parts of the world. 5 flies to pack in the smuggler kit under your driver’s seat for trout 1) A black woolly bugger 2) GRHE (gold-ribbed hair’s ear) 3) PTNs (pheasant tail nymph) variations 4) Damsel variations 5) DDDs which can cover a lot of different insect life on the surface. 5 fishing items you don’t leave home without before making a mission 1) My amber lense Oakley sunglasses. They protect my eyes from flies, they give me a lot of confidence when fishing in low-light conditions and they make it easy to spot fish when I’m not blind casting. 2) A hat. My head is getting bald now and a hat protects me from sunburn.

A buff for covering my face – as I’m not a fan of sunscreens – and good clothing with UV protection will always work for me under the African sun. 3) An Orvis mesh fly fishing vest. I’m always trout fishing so I need one to carry all the things I need. Trust me, I carry everything. 4) I love the Airlfo 40 plus line. It’s an integrated shooting head that we use for reservoir fishing, more than 40 yards long. If I am guiding or doing a presentation for a corporate group and people aren’t paying attention, I can false cast twice and shoot the whole line plus two handfuls of backing. That usually gets their attention. 5) A cellphone for emergencies and for taking pics – both for bragging on social networks and to show my family where I’ve been. 5 things about fly fishing you may never understand 1) How you can see fish rising all day, but there is no hatch to match. 2) Why fish feed on orange flies during summertime. 3) Wind directions and how they effect fish behaviour, especially when the wind comes from the east. 4) How fish will be jumping a metre out the water, but they won’t take a dry fly off the top. 5) Why the one that got away is always the biggest.

5 of the most underrated species in your book 1) Cat fish 2) Bass 3) Carp 4) Wave garrick 5) Mudfish 5 flies that to look at make no sense but that catch fish all the time 1) Green mamba 2) Teal and green 3) Cyril’s choice* 4) Connemara black 5) Lemon twist 5 common mistakes that clients make 1) They lose concentration after an hour of fishing and not catching. They will sit down and say, “Catch a fish for me. I want to see if there are any fish left in the dam.” 2) Trying to cast a long line after an hour’s casting lesson. If you ask the guy to take it easy and cast a short line, the response will be, “I want to cast a full fly line like you.” 3) Ignoring wind knots. Often, when I leave clients by themselves for just a short period of time while walking to the cool box to get water, they will attempt a long cast and get wind knots in the leader. Then when a fish strikes, he will shout “fish on!” and lift the rod with the fish hooked for a few seconds. As I run back towards him, the fish breaks off the leader right at the wind knot.

“IF YOU ASK THE GUY TO TAKE IT EASY AND CAST A SHORT LINE, THE RESPONSE WILL BE, “I WANT TO CAST A FULL FLY LINE LIKE YOU.” 14

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COLLEN TSHABANGU 4) Blaming the guide if the fishing is not at its best, because of a cold front. I’m a guide not a god! 5) When you get good anglers who rock up with ancient gear (hand-medown old-school fiberglass rods, DT lines, etc.) and think it won’t make a difference to their fishing. It does. On the flipside you get the guys who in the shop we say “have all the gear and no idea”, so it works both ways. Gear is important, but it’s not everything. 5 indispensable flies for saltwater 1) Salty bugger 2) Flexo crab variations 3) Polar fibre minnow imitations 4) Crazy Charlie shrimp variations 5) NYAP 5 favourite fly fishing destinations across Southern Africa? 1) Sterkfontein Dam. It’s a premium fishery where you can sight fish for yellowfish with dries and nymphs. I like it when the fish swim up from deep water to take your fly. 2) Pongola Dam for local tigerfish. This place keeps me going back, as it’s not a fishery for sissies. You’ve got to work hard to get a fish. 3) Kosi Bay Mouth for saltwater. It’s incredibly hard work, blind casting, not knowing what’s going to be at the end of your fly line. 4) The Vaal River. I love the technical side of this river, especially when trying to get a largemouth yellowfish. 5) Dullstroom’s waters as they are close by. I can fish most of the farms around here. They are just a phone call away.

5 bucketlist fly fishing destinations globally 1) The Amazon jungle for peacock bass is on the top of my list. 2) Gabon for tarpon. I like how hard they fight. 3) The Seychelles. As far as saltwater is concerned this place will always be the best for me. This fishery is forgiving; even so-called beginners get rewarded with fish. 4) Argentina for super-large trout. 5) The Zambezi for tigerfish was already a highlight, but I’ll go back. It’s the kind of place that cleanses my soul and puts a smile on my face. 5 of the most difficult guiding experiences so far 1) Overly ambitious clients. Expectation management is key, but it’s difficult, some fishermen have high hopes all the time. 2) Being under-prepared. Lots of guests don’t practise their casting before a trip. It’s simple – crap casts spook fish. 3) When a client casts to a rising fish with an old floating line full of memory and it makes a big splash… 4) Guests who ask funny questions like, “How did you get involved in fishing, because it’s for the rich?” or “I have never seen an African fly fishing.” 5) I find it difficult to spend time with a guest who doesn’t value my guidance. Sometimes clients won’t catch fish, yet they will blame the guide. You also get the odd client I call “an unteachable”. Despite spending time with them, teaching them how to cast decently and taking

them down to our failsafe stocked water, Fish Eagle Pond, which has a 90% conversion rate for beginners, every now and then there will be a guy or a girl who just cannot catch a fish, no matter how determined they are. 5-people you would like to guide with. 1) Jonathan Boulton of course, he taught me lot about fly fishing and I’m still learning a thing or two when getting a chance to fish with him. 2)Gerald Laubscher, just to lift my saltwater tactics. 3) Tom Sutcliffe 4 and 5) My colleagues and friends John Thoabala and Thulani Mpanga. Your last five casts were to? Stillwater rainbow trout. I don’t normally get to fish when I’m guiding, but I did recently with some friends of Mavungana. After an early start on some private waters, we grabbed breakfast and went to another privately owned farm in Dullstroom. Everyone was bursting from the coffee so we jumped out the car to relieve ourselves and as we peed, I noticed plenty of hoppers jumping around in the long grass. While the rest were discussing whether the hoppers were brown or green, I put on a long leader and a big Joe’s hopper and in no time had caught myself a solid 4,5-pound fish. * A tadpole lure (in the green, black and yellow of the ANC) designed for Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa by Steve Barrow. Ref. African Fly Fishing Handbook by Bill Hansford-Steele.

“WHILE THE REST WERE DISCUSSING WHETHER THE HOPPERS WERE BROWN OR GREEN, I PUT ON A LONG LEADER AND A BIG JOE’S HOPPER AND IN NO TIME HAD CAUGHT MYSELF A SOLID 4,5-POUND FISH.” 16

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OBSESSIONS

STILLWATERS RUN DEEP WITH HERMAN BOTES

WITH STILLWATERS, YOU CAN STAY AS SHALLOW OR DIVE AS DEEP AS YOU LIKE. EXPLORING THE “TROUT TRIANGLE”, HERMAN BOTES PEELS BACK THE LAYERS ON THE STRATEGIES AND ALLURE OF STILLWATER TROUT SEASON. Photos Caleb Bjergfelt, Herman Botes, Gareth Reid

or most South African fly fishers, the initial phase of their journey to “the land of the lost” involved a bout of stillwater fly fishing. Some move quickly onto other facets of fly fishing which grab their fascination. Moving water eventually hypnotized me, but I hung around stillwaters long enough to be cast under its spell permanently. I’ve literally studied as much on the ever changing subject as possible and pursued trout from tiny put-and-take stew ponds to great expanses of water where floattubes are essential. I’ve bled on the lakes of the Western Cape, Lakies in particular, persevered and progressed on an array of Mpumalanga waters and found nirvana on some notorious Natal Midlands lakes. Still there’s a bucket list as long as my arm of trophy Eastern Cape, Underberg and Kamberg lakes to get to. I guess my pursuit of stillwater trout is terminal. I’m aware of a group of anglers, freaks really, who make it their sole mission to hunt “Hog Johnson”. They endure some of nastiest conditions mother nature can dish out in some seriously isolated places, persisting despite discomfort and challenging (aka crap) fishing. But, when they eventually hit paydirt and smile back at me from a photograph while hoisting the mother of all trout from the water and I’m right back where it all started – dreaming of trout as long as my arm. And to think they are right here, in good ol’ SA. Right under our noses.

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Like a turd in the toilet bowl, Cloud 9 for a lone floater on Lakenvlei. W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

pumalanga is not as highly regarded as some regions in the country when it comes to stillwater trout. You’re not going to go hunting for double-digit fish in the Dullstroom district. But that doesn’t mean there’s not some fine stillwater trouting to be had. I cut my teeth fishing for trout in this region and it’s around here that I have spent many long days learning the complexities of stillwater fly fishing. Autumn is arguably the best time of year to hunt for trout in the ponds, dams and lakes scattered around the “Trout Triangle” (Machadodorp, Waterval Boven and Dullies) of Mpumalanga. It’s the reason why I’ve hooked up with the crew from Mavungana Flyfishing for a day of stillwater trouting. It’s a lovely fresh autumn morning, with a nip in the air, when I pop into the Mavungana Flyfishing shop to meet up with our guide, Collen Tshabangu, who’s going to take us around for the day. The shop has been a Dullstroom landmark ever since I started coming here to fish. Jonathan Boulton and his staff are a fly

fishing institution in these parts. Their passion for fly fishing is evident the moment you put foot in the cosy shop. The space is crammed with all things fly fishing. Photographs of catches from across the globe cover the walls. As a fly-fishing junkie I feel right at home warming myself in front of the fireplace, coffee in hand. Jonathan together with guides John Thoabala and Collen have fished this region extensively for years and can probably help you out with any kind of fly fishing itch you need to scratch. I meet Collen, a huge, laidback dude. I guess being a fishing guide in the heart of trout country brings a familiarity that makes you almost blasé about the prospect of a day out fishing fine stillwaters. Unlike me, who can hardly contain my excitement as I embark on my first foray of stillwater trout fishing for the year. We load up and head out to an old established syndicate water managed by the Mavungana crew. On the way to the lake, Collen mentions that one of his favourite fly patterns is a Papa Roach (Ed: invented by the writer). I like this guy already.

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We pull up next to a beautiful lake in the still gloom of dawn. Fish are rolling on its flat silver surface. A new lake always fills you with anticipation, especially if there’s talk of big fish. I tackle up almost feverishly, keeping one eye on the margins where fish are moving over the weeded shallows, while formulating some plan of attack. Fishing stillwaters is as much a mental exercise as river fishing is. For starters you have to read your piece of water and, trust me, this can take a few outings on some lakes. Usually the ones that end up full of surprises are the ones that draw you back, because you always sense that you’ve missed something. Then there’s understanding what’s on the menu and what the preferred fish food to imitate might be. For this particular spot, Collen mentioned there were lots of vlei kurper in the margins so I opt for an intermediate line and a Zonker fished fast. I like the idea of this approach because it’ll help me unload some of the excitement that’s been building up. Fish are still showing here and there as I send long casts over the calm surface, but it’s almost too calm and with the first rays of sunlight now on the water I

That awkward moment when sobriety strikes and you realize your Tinder date is from another species. 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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sense the odds are stacked against us. Stillwater trout love going about their business without being detected and flat, calm, bright light definitely puts them on the defensive. I fear we’ve missed the morning frenzy. Spotting caddis hatching in the margins, I switch to a second rod loaded with a floating line and a team of small nymphs. Having lines with different sink rates is important if you take stillwaters seriously. I carry four lines and some poly-leaders to cover my bases, but guys who are absolutely obsessed with stillwater fishing can carry as many as eight to 10 lines. Take my friend Gijs for instance: “I’m a complete ‘line nut’ when it comes to stillwaters. I like to have every possible line at my disposal to present my flies to trout at whichever level they are holding. In terms of stock-standard fishing, I have a Rio Gold Floater and Airflo Sixth Sense lines in a slow inter, fast inter, Di3, Di5, Di7. Although when I’m not sure where the fish are, I will fish with Airflo Di3 and Di5 sweep lines to search different levels effectively. When I’m stuck on the bank, I fish Airflo 40+ lines in Di3 and Di5. When things get a little crazy I fish an Airflo Sixth Sense Di8, often with three boobies to search for the fish that are stuck on the bottom. Lastly, I have an Airflo 6ft fast inter midge tip to fish buzzers at deeper levels than what my floating line will allow me. That’s 12 lines, and I’m not happy with that, I still want a 40+ Di7, fast inter and floater. Probably a few more one day.” Collen obviously knows this water so when he later declares that the fishing is tough, after we only managed to extract two fish and a handful of takes, I don’t feel that defeated. Over the years I’ve experienced the sense of defeat many times. It comes with the territory. I think it is also one of the reasons I’m so drawn to stillwaters. Afterwards you analyse, rethink, re-strategise and become superkeen for a do-over. God forbid you fail again. The guys suggest a change of venue and a bite to eat. On the way out we decide to make a few casts in the small water below the lake. Its surface is ruffled every now and then, but there are no fish showing. I’m making some half-hearted casts, not really knowing where to start.

Gijsbert Hoogendoorn tossing off a sizeable rainbow troot.

Experienced anglers each develop their own favourite go-to strategy for times just like this. Being a bit of a “loskop”, I tend to struggle to make up my mind. A dude who fishes Mpumalanga stillwaters a lot and is very good at it is Daniel Factor. His favourite prospecting approach? “A floater with a team of buzzers and/ or small nymphs on a long leader – Mpumalanga waters in general are not that deep.” Meanwhile, Collen’s casting a long line off the wall. It’s a favourite tactic that I associate with the “old guard”. But make no mistake, the Walkers Killer on a sinking line, fished slow and deep off the wall can be deadly at times. Collen’s got his own version: “Papa Roach on a sinking line, fished fast and deep off the wall.” He’s immediately into fish. I follow his cue even though stripping a Roach doesn’t sit well with me. Collen’s known as “Mr Papa Roach” in these parts and he sure knows how to wield this pattern in a whole bunch of ways. At least it’s getting me into fish. I soon change to a team of flies that’s more in line with pulling for stockies. It consists of a garish mix of a small bright attractor, a subtle nymph on a middle dropper and a booby on point to yo-yo the lot and create a reaction bite, should it be required. I feel more bona fide stripping this rig and the fish respond as expected. Still, Collen continues to catch a heap more

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fish doing things his way. Confidence is a big part of stillwater success and that comes from spending a lot of hours on the water. Collen’s got 20 years of it, and it shows. After a quick stop and refuel, we find ourselves on another venue managed by Mavungana, situated in a stunning valley. Some of the guys decide to go looking for big fish, rumoured to be in the two bigger waters, while I’m captivated by a crystal clear pond, its surface sparkling in the light breeze. There are hoppers flipping in the tall grassy edges. Dragons and damsels are on the wing and caddis flitter over its weedy margins. A fish rises close to the strong inlet. The setup is so perfect you almost want to just sit back a while and take it all in. Almost. I rig up fast with only a floater and a long leader. It’s the kind of water where you can just fish off the top of your head. The crystal clear water suggests a dry and dropper setup of some sorts. I’m still considering options when Collen goes tight to a solid fish after flipping a hopper to the riser at the inlet. He goes about the fish fighting business in his laidback manner while I squirrel around excitedly netting his fish. Inspired by Mr Papa Roach, I decide to buck the obvious choice and instead cast a Roach. I straighten the line for contact and give the pattern time to settle before starting a slow retrieve.

jewel of a pond with its peaceful vista. This time of the year, Dulstroom is as pretty as a picture, with autumn colours decorating the country side.

Run the Jewels’ newest member was a bit of a wet fish.

On stillwaters, fishing slow can be the quickest way to success. Someone once wrote that if you think you are retrieving real slow, slow it down even more. At times this can become an internal battle, but this is where the confidence thing comes in. A few casts later my patience is rewarded as the leader draws under while I wait for the fly to settle. I’m caught off guard and miss the strike. I could blame it on my beautiful surroundings. Continuing to keep my fly in the zone, I just stay in touch and slowly move the Roach. Then the line goes solid. That moment is special, ask any keen stillwater angler. There’s even a saying for it: “the tug is the drug”. This fish is hot. First it comes straight at me, in the dam corner, and then bolts all along the dam wall, ripping line off my reel. I’m forced to run after it, rod in the air while recovering backing at the same time. As I catch up to it, trying to manage the situation, knowing the 5X tippet isn’t going to allow any heavy handedness, the fish makes a few jumps. It’s a pretty hen in superb condition. I watch it slowly blend into the underwater world as it drifts away upon release. Bolstered by my catch, I work my way towards the back end of the pond where an old stream channel enters the pond. Stillwater trout cruise a lot while on the

prod and edges pretty much map out the routes they follow. Things like the edges of weed beds, contour edges, drop-offs, old river channels, reed edges, ripple lines, shade lines and wind lanes. Once you get a grip on locating fish, strategising revolves around finding the correct depth, the correct retrieve and finally the correct fly pattern. At one point I cast to a fish moving close to the bank. I keep the fly in the zone for as long as possible, confident that surely it fish must have spotted my big dragon imitation. As I start to reach the end of my retrieve, I search for my pattern in the underwater world. I often watch my patterns at the end of the retrieve to see how they react to different retrieves. As I find the pattern, the silhouette of a fish phantoms into view. I give the Papa Roach a small twitch, just to make sure the fish is aware, and let it sit. The fish slowly cruises up to the suspended dragon and simply winks as it inhales the fly. I set the hook as it turns. The whole scene brings satisfying fulfillment of the visions I had while designing the Papa Roach. More fish fall to the charms of the Roach, all in superb condition, heavy inky spots on their deep olive dorsals with rich pink flanks. You almost expect them to be this goodlooking because they come out of this

The “big fish search party” re-joins us and we excitedly exchange fishy tales while moving to some water further up the valley. They are happy with their success even though “Hog Johnson” eluded them. The next water is typical of many waters in the region; long established with a very natural feel. By now there’s a nice ripple from the late afternoon breeze with some clouds intermittently casting some shade. Fish are rising purposefully in the ripple. I’m pretty sure they are taking terrestrials and when a fish takes my hopper close to the bank, I know we’re in for some dry-fly action. The water in this dam is gin clear and after some refusals, I reconsider my pattern selection. In Mpumalanga pretty much all the stillwater fishing is done to stocked fish. But this doesn’t mean they are pushovers. Established fish like the ones we’re casting to can be a challenge. I move to the downstream bank where fish are patrolling the weed edge picking terrestrials out of the accumulated surface debris. I decide on a small, dark F-fly. CDC is definitely a winner on stillwaters, where fish can view a fly at their leisure. Just ask the guys that fish Sterkies a lot. Duping fish on small dry flies is a fitting way to end the day. Even after you’ve had a really tough day on a stillwater, there’s always the prospect of the evening rise. Sometimes it can be spectacular with fastpaced action and other times the water remains as still and perplexing as it’s been all day. But today is not one of those. As I look up the valley, the tapestry of yellows, ochres and reds are intensified by the last rays of sunlight. There’s an exited banter as we break down and pack away gear while sipping cold beer. I can feel the cold air folding in around us as the sun winks away behind the horizon. Standing around in the stillness of the cold dusk, I’m already analysing, re-thinking and re-strategising my next do-over. Trout season’s here. For a Papa Roach step-by-step visit www.themissionflymag.com

“THIS FISH IS HOT. FIRST IT COMES STRAIGHT AT ME, IN THE DAM CORNER, AND THEN BOLTS ALL ALONG THE DAM WALL, RIPPING LINE OFF MY REEL. I’M FORCED TO RUN AFTER IT, ROD IN THE AIR WHILE RECOVERING BACKING AT THE SAME TIME”. 24

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T R AV E L

DJIBOUTI CALL ROADTRIPPING AROUND THE HORN OF AFRICA

ARMED ONLY WITH GOOGLE EARTH HOURS AND HIS FLY TACKLE, FRED DAVIS AND A MATE WITH A SPINNING ROD TOOK ON A PROPER EXPLORATORY TRIP AROUND THE HORN OF AFRICA. UNDEREXPLOITED BLUE WATERS AND ADVENTURE AWAITED THEM, BUT SO DID A BUNCH OF UNKNOWNS, LIKE ERITREAN REBELS AND SOME OF THE HARDEST TERRAIN ON EARTH. Words and photos Fred Davis

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Moon buggies have come a long way since Neil Armstrongâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s day. W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

t’s a strange thing when the low point of your trip is sitting in front of an old, clean beach bungalow while young, bikini-clad French UNAid workers run and swim through the warm shallows. The view was incredibly tropical, easily making you forget the desert behind you. Any other day I would have felt quite like I was easing into the best part of a holiday, but I felt flat. We hadn’t planned to be here in Obock. We were meant to heading north to waters unknown and unfished. “Sometimes there’s trouble. Bandits from Eritrea. Normally fine, but maybe...” “How much maybe?” “Not too much, but maybe they see your white skin and want your things.” “Things, like ransom?” “Hahahaha. Yes, maybe they kidnap you… But you can get a guide. He knows the area and then you safer.” To the north, Eritrean bandits. To the south, lawless Somalia. To the west, Ethiopia and a severe lack of ocean. To the east, the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea holding triggers, geets and untold fishy treasures. The lazy roadblock guards, lying in the shade of a thorn tree with their AK47s sharing their dusty mats, seemed friendly enough, even if they didn’t want their photo taken. Their conversation, which seemed a pigeon French mixed with a local dialect, was well punctuated with gesticulating and laughter – and the directions where to find the guide were not much clearer. Allistair and I looked at each other. We knew without discussion that the guide would

probably be another khat-chewing local with that glazed look shrouding his eyes and emotions. This wasn’t going to happen regardless. The point was to DIY it. The spots we had spent hours poring over hi-res images to identify would have to remain unfished until Eritrea sorted its unrest out. The fact became painfully clear to us. We were not getting further north. We had spent the last four days exploring the coastline wherever we could get to it. Djibouti is a hard, desolate land. It lets you know from the get-go that you are out of your element. Travelling in the rest of Africa you get used being asked for food, gear, clothes, sweets. Here, the only thing we were ever asked for was water. Out on the points and beaches there is very little shade. The black rocks that lie everywhere make it totally impossible to drive off-road. My life motto that water is life takes on a larger and more real meaning in this environment. To compound the effect of the land on us, we’d had a few interesting experiences on route. Mad truck drivers – all high on khat I’m sure – overtaking up single lane mountain passes. French and American army convoys. Unmanned rocket launchers on tripods a stone’s throw from the main road. And roadblocks where, unlike most other places in Africa, we were waved through with a smile. It had been surreal even without yet unlocking any fishing codes. Despite all this we had found some gems. Little tucked away beaches with rickety “campement touristique” setups that were clearly established during a time when the tourism industry went through a bit of boom. These little camps are dotted all along the

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Giving new meaning to the term ‘trash fish,’ Fred winkled this Titan triggerfish out from some polluted waters.

coastline, some in total disrepair with not a soul in attendance while others are kept together by minimum maintenance and a patchwork of repairs. The keepers were always helpful and would often come and prattle away in French while we stared with blank faces trying to decipher the hand signals and facial expressions. Off every beach was a coral reef and dropoff that plummeted down to inky blue depths. The coral flats themselves, while full of life and in incredible condition, were an awkward depth for shore fishing – too deep to wade effectively with the dropoff being a little too far over which to effectively fight fish – we bled tackle from day one. There were good fish all the way up the coast. Not as frequent as one might hope, but plentiful enough. Allistair fished the drop-offs as best he could with his heavy popping gear and I went exploring with the long rod; searching for fly-friendly areas. In a lagoon I found some bream tailing around the carcass of a dhow, tipped over on its side with its ribs protruding, harbouring stories of its past. Further along I picked up a little giant trevally and further still got denied by a smaller titan triggerfish. Later I grabbed a kayak and headed for the drop-off where I got absolutely obliterated by something large and angry. My 80-pound hard fluoro leader came back in tatters. That was the daily routine. New spot. Walk. Fish. Get bust up or not find anything at all.

The day before we left on the trip, a friend texted me asking what the plan was. My response: “Fly tomorrow. Fish for a week. Make everybody jealous.” On that beach in Obock, four days later, I was beginning to worry about the jealousy part. Precious time was being lost to small fish and long walks. I had even resorted to throwing my spinner gear more and more just to reach the average-size fish, which always seemed out of reach of a fly. And the triggers had eluded me too. I had to keep reminding myself that this is the nature of a DIY trip. Shit doesn’t always go your way. That when you take the decision to spurn the well tread path of guides and hot meals you may come back with nothing but a bruised ego to show for your hours of planning and the physical effort you’d invested into actually finding a fish. And the unexpected bevy of beauties on that beach did not make the fact that I may have to accept defeat in a couple of days any easier to swallow. One fish of consequence was all I wanted. That evening, over baked potatoes and whisky, Allistair and I discussed a game plan. There was a spot we had passed by on route to Obock. We’d had a few casts some ways before where the water was accessible and a good fish had been lost, but we never gave the option of exploring further much thought – it was hard

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country and totally desolate; completely alien. The igneous rock lay jagged, broken and largely impassable. It was clear that the earth was young here, the fresh sharp edges of creation and volcanic upheaval having not yet lost their violence. This particular area, right where the seam along which Africa is ripping itself in two begins, makes every other desert I’ve travelled through seem rather docile. And now, in a twist, the one place we skipped over was going to be our last shot. We arrived early. The sea lay oil still as we negotiated the meagre rates for camping at the only, and disheveled, campsite in the bay. When we suggested to the keeper that we would walk out to the distant point to fish, he guffawed in broken English that nobody goes there because you can’t get there. My half-thought that – despite him never meeting two fishermen as desperate or crazy as us – he might actually be correct, was interrupted by a big swirl and scattering baitfish. Breakfast forgotten, the camp keeper’s eyes visibly widened as we madly prepped for the hike out to the point. A quick cast into the bay below the camp resulted in the loss of my last spoon and another point to Djibouti. I was getting whitewashed! Coral trout and bohar snapper have a nasty habit of getting deep into rock and coral crevices, quickly and effectively skinning leader on the razor edges. We fished and walked our way to the first, and relatively accessible, point. Here we would be able to fish directly to the deep water that dropped from the oyster- and coral-encrusted edge. As I crested the ridge that split two bays, I stopped dead in my tracks: below me, daisy chaining in the crystal clear sand-bottomed bay, were a shoal of big milkfish. There was no way that I could target them from where I stood but this didn’t stop my hands from shaking. To make matters worse as I turned back to tell Allistair, I saw a farmanimal-size wrasse slide up onto the coral ridge below me. Milks to one side, a monster Napoleon on the other. I couldn’t make this shit up! Ten minutes later Allistair landed the first proper GT of the trip. And then promptly lost another. I sent out cast after

cast, willing the fish to come into fly range. But nothing bothered my fly except a small Napoleon that I lost at the death of the fight. Two bays later we came face-to-face with the reason the camp keeper believed we wouldn’t make the far point. A steep, boulderstrewn cliff lay between us and the deep bay behind the point that I’ve now named the Canyon. However, I got distracted by a big triggerfish feeding in a foot of water, and was promptly distracted from it by a shoal of triggerfish. Allistair laughed at me as I cursed about which fly to tie on. Eventually I headed off to catch up with Allistair, who was already rock rabbiting amongst the boulders. It was careful, hot work that got you up to the ridge above the cliffs. I will not forget looking down to the Canyon for the first time. There is a big gash in the land, like some huge blunt blade had cleaved it apart. You can literally see the splitting tectonic plates. It only added to the surreal nature of the scene. Ahead of me lay a long spine with flats on one side that led to an island and on the other a big deep bay. It was lined by a short, shallow coral bank that dropped off into the deep. Pausing to take it in I could not help but smile and wonder how many fly rods had ever been carried up here. There were enough triggers on the flats to keep me busy all day but I had GT fever to deal with. I had been feeling the fever creeping up my spine since Allistair had landed his that morning. Turning my back on the flats I started casting along the deep drop off of the Canyon; the oysters and sharp rocks proving a never-ending frustration as they kept catching fly line and causing dropped casts. A while later two fish came screaming out of the blue and did hairpin turns around my fly. It took me a moment to realise what they were. Rainbow runners! The significance of this took another moment to sink in. Rainbow runners off the bricks! This water was very, very deep. I had got into the almost mindless rhythm of fishing blind only to snap back to reality when a big GT swam up onto the coral ridge, ate my fly and disappeared into the blue, taking a trail of line with it. Fight mode kicked in: I clamped the drag and hung on. I snapped

“THEIR CONVERSATION, WHICH SEEMED A PIGEON FRENCH MIXED WITH A LOCAL DIALECT, WAS WELL PUNCTUATED WITH GESTICULATING AND LAUGHTER – AND THE DIRECTIONS WHERE TO FIND THE GUIDE WERE NOT MUCH CLEARER.” W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

Above: Tricky terrain with flats too deep to wade and a drop off just out of range of fly rods. Right: What you get if you persist.

into flats mode; hit him hard and early to break him before he got off the flat and into the coral. Except there was no flat and he was already over the coral. The hard pressure of the locked-down drag being transferred through 120-pound fluoro caused him to head straight into it. The rest does not need to be retold but is easily guessed. Dejected, I kept working likely-looking water but eventually swopped to the spinning rod – I was not casting fit and the #12 was taking its toll in the midday heat. Not long after, I hooked a GT on a spoon I’d bummed off Allistair. I immediately put the pressure on the fish and straight down into the bricks it went. Cursing I dumped gear and jumped into a deep, coral-walled rock pool. To add to the frustration of the two lost GTs, I’d seen Allistair lose two and land two. The heavy popping gear – which I didn’t have – seemed to be the piece of missing gear. I was feeling unprepared, under-gunned and annoyed. Later, I headed to meet Allistair for lunch. A freshly filleted snapper. Eaten simply with soya sauce and crackers. Except the soya sauce had opened in Allistair’s bag and when I found him he was doing his best to clean the contents of his bag of our fish seasoning. The float in the rock pool had helped me clear my head. I realised that a game plan change was needed. I wasn’t on a flat and these fish were open water fish. They lived out in the blue and merely raided the shoreline. Each fish, and I checked this with Allistair, had headed to open water on their first run and it was only when the pressure was cranked up that they hit the brakes. It would take effort of will, but I was going to have to let the next one – if I hooked a next one – run. Let it drag 100 feet of #12 fly line around the deep water and tire itself out. I like to end a fight quickly and this would be going against everything that was instinct. Post-lunch I started to feel like I was beginning to thrash the water. My casts where getting ugly bellies, I was dropping loops and my fly was snagging behind me. The heat was taking its toll. I was getting tired. I decided to cut my losses and give the triggers on the flat a go. It was getting late in the day and there was still a long walk back, there was a flight the next night and I wouldn’t get

another chance to fish that flat. But the light was wrong and I had to walk to the opposite end of the flat along the ridge that separated it from the Canyon. Halfway along this I looked down into the blue of the Canyon and saw it happen so perfectly – the high vantage was perfect for viewing; a gang of GTs was working its way down the coral edge, harassing the small pockets of baitfish. It was like watching a lion hunt in the veld. I watched, mesmerized as they created explosions of white water down the point. I suddenly realised that I might just be able to catch them and cut them off. Switching into big fish mode, adrenaline pumped as I dumped my backpack and sprinted to cut them off. It all happened quite quickly. I got to a relatively easy spot to cast from; much closer to the water than where I first saw them, it just felt like the spot. I had lost sight of them so I put a speculative cast out, just to make sure I had enough line out and all was order. The fly had barely hit surface when, from blue nothingness, five or six GTs crashed into it at light speed. One instant it was a fly, the next an eruption of whitewater. The line tightened and reel started screaming. I had to fight every instinct to not tighten that drag any more than needed. Just enough pressure to make the fish work for its head. It’s bloody stressful watching your fly line and half the backing on the #12 disappear into the blue. Then the fight really started. Dogged. Slow, like two tired prizefighters, neither willing to give ground. Back and forth. Win some line, lose line. Every head shake caused my heart to jump into my throat. The battle waged for a good 20 minutes before that fish showed itself. And it took another five minutes before I was able to grab it around those thick flutes. I don’t know who was more tired: the fish or I. But it took us both a while to recover. Cradling that fish, while Allistair snapped a few pics, I was overcome by a euphoric calm. A mix of emotions fuelled and confused by thirst and fatigue. But feeling that kick of energy as it swam off, I knew that no photo, no words, no excited retelling of the story could ever do justice to that moment.

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ROADTRIP

THE LEGEND OF F#@K YOU VALLEY LESOTHO

IN A DISTANT LESOTHO VALLEY, TUDOR CARADOC-DAVIES EXPERIENCES THE HARD-FIGHTING YELLOWS AND FRIENDSHIP-TESTING BROWNS OF THE BOKONG “WILL YOU MARRY ME?” … is not something you should say just before going on a fishing trip. I’m not known for thinking things through and like an idiot, I’d popped the question to my girlfriend Ingrid a few days before leaving for a week’s fishing in the mountains of Lesotho. “Like an idiot” refers not to the question itself (she said yes and “praise be unto Yaweh” she is now my wife), but rather to my ill-thoughtout timing to then bugger off leaving her high on engagement vibes, alone. Unless she turned out to be a covert CIA operative with access to drones, messenger pigeons and explosive mountain donkeys, there was literally no way she would be able to get in touch. I in turn spun off, giddy about love and life and… freaking huge Lesotho brown trout and yellowfish. This was weighing heavily on my mind as we rolled out of Cape Town at 4am, with over half the country to traverse before crossing the border into Lesotho the next day. That, and the fact that Mick and Bells, based off a tip they “received” at a trance party, were convinced they could find San Pedro growing naturally at a petrol station halfway through the Karoo. Why the Bokong? Well, when Leonard Flemming of Feathers & Fluoro (who has guided and fished all over the world) says that a place

is as good if not better than New Zealand, you listen. Throw in the fact that it is only one long car journey away and you take note. Factor in that there will be no awkward ragging about the relative strength of our rugby teams (I’m pretty sure Lesotho sucks more than we do) and that you’ll have some spare change for beers and it quickly becomes a no-brainer. If you pore over topographical maps online to try and get an understanding of where Katse Dam and the Bokong River is, you only get a vague sense of just how incredibly mountainous Lesotho is. The crenellations flow on and on like unruly, choppy sets of waves as the Malutis cross our arbitrary colonial borders and become the Drakensberg. The near but far inaccessibility of the country was made even more apparent when after overnighting in Ficksburg, we hopped the border and could see that as the GPS crow flies, the Makhangoa Community Camp was right there, a mere valley or two away. But to get “there” involved high passes, multiple deep valleys and switchbacks while crossing Katse Dam’s many inlets on our way to one specific inlet, where the fabled Bokong River flows in. The plan was simple. A few days of fishing in and around the camp for the smallmouth yellows moving upriver from Katse Dam and then five nights up in the valley, donkey-trekking with guide Stu Harley and two muleteers to seldom-fished stretches of the Bokong that house both resident yellows and browns.

Story. Tudor Caradoc-Davies Photos. Micky Wiswedel 34

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The girl guides were lost, thirsty and most importantly, out of cookies. Glenda was NOT amused. W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

The Bokong river and its long glides, deep pools, indigenous yellows and old alien browns.

Right from the start, the fishing around the camp was off the charts. Big yellows finning around, smashing dry flies. Our eyes gradually adjusted from days spent eyeballing computer screens and satellite channels, to the games of glare and guesswork that water plays on you and the takes of fish both subtle and hard. The nights were spent smashing Maluti beers and Stu’s famed cooking while checking out the stars, city stress sloughing from our shoulders. As if we weren’t already excited with our trip, the night before we left to go up the valley, Lionel Song swung into camp. A masterful campfire storyteller who specialises in guiding for tigerfish both for Tourette Fishing and as a freelancer, Lionel was one of the first to fish the Bokong’s upper reaches with his old friend Ed Truter. Like any good story, there are usually two sides to it, but from both accounts, on their trip the hills were alive with the sounds of cursing. As Lionel spoke, I recorded and later got Ed’s written account. While Ed is more economical with his words, brevity is not Lionel’s strong point so the following is a fair reflection of their personalities. This is their story:

THE LEGEND OF F#@k YOU VALLEY Lionel: The weather wasn’t great. We had a lot of rain so the river went up and down, up and down like a yo-yo. And of course because of that our visibility varied quite a lot as well. Prior to the expedition I didn’t have a decent pair of polarised sunglasses because I needed prescription lenses so I went to my local optician and got a pair of those things that flip down and clip on to your glasses frame so you look like a dragon fly when they are up and you look like a doos when they are down. Ed: The problem was that Lionel had arrived on the trip with a totally shit pair of robot-purchased sunglasses.

who focus on and grasp the big picture. None is better than the other and both types are needed to keep the world going around. Lionel is a big-picture guy, I’m a details guy. But sight fishing for brown trout calls for being mostly a details guy. Lionel: My normal style of fishing is quite rapid, just like my personality, so for me to slow down to Ed’s sort of pace of total scrutiny of every nymph dropping on a rock, I really had to concentrate. And when you’ve got a shitty pair of polaroids, its actually quite difficult because you often see things that aren’t there. Also, having not been on the river for a while, my river craft sucked a bit.

Lionel: Ed being Ed – the hawkish OCD perfectionist guru – he spotted everything that moved. Every mayfly that even twitched an antenna, he was there, boy. I had to up my game quite considerably to keep up with him.

Ed: The second problem was Lionel walked too quickly. I could not drum it into his head to look three times and step once, i.e. I could not get him to focus on the details. The end result was that he kept spooking fish, fish that were quite scarce, one per pool, and big.

Ed: The bottom line is there are two kinds of people in this world, those who focus and see the details and those

Lionel: We reached the really gnarly bits of the Bokong where it is tremendously technical. The only thing that is left

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The cast of characters from stoned muleteers and their steeds to city slickers and their gear.

“A LARGE, AND VERY PISSED OFF BRONZE-SIDED SMALLMOUTH BASS IS IN THE AIR RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME” W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

Sonya, tossing her blonde hair around as usual, always insisted on leading the pack.

in those pools at that time of year are these big old lunker browns. They are not small fish and they are not stupid fish. You have to be fokken skerp to get anything close to those fish. Our first fish actually, Ed looked at it and thought it was a twig and then it moved its lower jaw slightly and then we knew we were on to something. Ed managed to catch him. A really nice brown in most guys’ books. Now I have seen my first Bokong brown, my confidence levels are up. I’m thinking this is easy. I can do this. I can spot a brown no problem. Ed: The light conditions were marginal and good spotting conditions were fleeting, so I was getting the moer in that he kept spooking fish. Lionel: I was walking behind Ed on the opposite side of the bank, he was

ahead of me and he was like an aquatic ninja. He had all this camo shit on, but his backpack had orange panels at the back so you could still see him quite clearly if he turned his back or moved slightly to the side. I was at the tail of the pool and he had gone ahead of me, but not by much. The next thing this fucking massive brown did a tailspin out of the tail of the pool in a cloud of underwater dust. That’s when Ed lost his shit with me the first time. “What the fuck?! Didn’t you fucking see that fish? Are you fucking blind?” I retaliated, “Well, fuck you! You spooked him with your orange backpack!” So we had this bit of banter across the river which ended in quite a quiet walk after that. I don’t think Ed was sulking

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because he’s not the kind of guy who sulks. He just gets it off his chest, whereas I will hang on to something like a dog with a bone. I was bitching and cursing his entire family tree, everything he had ever done in his life for at least the next kilometre before we got back to normal again. We got to one pool and were high up on the right-hand side overlooking this beautiful rocky bed and the water was perfect, the visibility good and I was just sitting there kind of almost meditating because it was so beautiful up there, while Ed was at the bottom looking around. The next thing I saw this big rock and thought, “Yassus, if that’s a fish… It can’t be a fish, can it?” I looked again and it moved its pectoral fins, not even an inch and it revealed itself as this incredible brown. I was like a baboon I

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was so excited, screaming “Ed, Ed, Ed, big fish down below!” Ed: When Lionel eventually spotted a big brown I couldn’t see it given my angle of view from the opposite side of the stream, so he had to direct me to cast to where it was holding. Lionel: He wanted to know where to cast and he was pointing with his rod. I was giving him directions, “The big rock with the white spots on it.” It was fairly close, an easy cast. Ed: Knowing Lionel battled with the details, I did everything in my power to make it easy for him to explain to me exactly where the fish was. Anyways, I made the cast to where I think he’d directed, and overshot the fish by a rodlength of line and spooked the scales off it! He had completely fudged the avenue of details I’d given him to allow him to explain to me where the fish was. Lionel: I must have got it wrong because he cast over the fish and spooked it. When he spooked it and realised the size of the fish he had just missed, he lost his shit properly with me and we were both barking baboons again across the kranse. Ed: So ja, that was the stone that busted the dam wall. Lionel: The funny thing was, being a brown and being his home pool, he wasn’t going anywhere. He had a bit of a fright so he just moved forward by about two metres at most and that’s where I saw him again. I have to commend Ed for his casting. He had three different current lines descending on him and he had to try get his fly to this fish. He put a couple of nymphs out in front of it but the brown wasn’t interested and then I shouted down “put a dry on”. I think he put his bal byter on (Ed: the Bokong’s go-to dry) and on the second or third drift, this thing came up and hit it. Man it was a beautiful fish. Ed: By some miracle, after my venting of words across the valley, the fish dropped back into position and we caught him. All that said, there were never any hard feelings. Lionel is a man amongst men with an attitude we can all learn from (apart from missing some

details) and if I were left with one man standing in this universe, I would want to be standing with Lionel, he’s a legend. Lionel: In that moment of piscatorial jubilation all is forgiven, all is forgotten and you’re living in that moment of sheer fucking bliss when you can’t believe what’s happened. You suddenly become a team. One moment under your breath you might be wishing the oke gets hooked up in his back cast all the time because he is out-fishing you ten to one, but at the same time when that moment of clarity comes it’s like an objective reach sort of thing, you just bond as one. We just sat there grinning like Cheshire Cats. It was just amazing and it’s a trip I want to do again with him.

“WE JUST SAT THERE GRINNING LIKE CHESHIRE CATS. IT WAS JUST AMAZING AND IT’S A TRIP I WANT TO DO AGAIN WITH HIM.”

heir story resonated with me on several levels. Like Lionel had in Ed, in Bells I’ve got an anal, details-driven engineer for a fishing buddy, while I’m the big-picture blunderer. Bells blames me when he spooks big fish. I tell him to get fucked. And so on. But most of all, Lionel’s telling of the story with accompanying hand gestures around the size of the fish, was not about some far off place that we might get to fish someday. It was what lay ahead for the next five days and nights. Despite the fact that we were on goat paths, it was easy to feel like we were going where no fly angler had ever

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been before, even if we knew that was not true. Further and further we pushed towards Mordor (the dark foreboding source of the Bokong so named by Tourette) yet we were constantly surprised with each summit, new waterfall or bend in the river that there were still sheep, goats, the odd herdsman or kraal visible on distant kopjes. A land of clouds, rain and sheep, lammergeiers (vultures), skaapstekers (snakes) and fields of Lesotho Bull (weed); to city slickers with soft hands it’s as strange and isolated an existence as living on a remote Atlantic or North Sea island like Tristan da Cunha or the Faroe Islands. The hills definitely felt like they had eyes and with each early morning boskak in the gloaming, I expected to see judges’ score cards raised from the cliffs scoring me for balance, placement and movement. We see a guy waving flags and Stu tells us that up there people communicate across valleys through a kind of semaphore. “Mielies for sale. By two get none free.” “How about that lightning?” “Tell your sister I say, ‘sup’.” Put it down to altitude or lack of fitness, but the first day or two of hiking left us wheezing for breath. As we got used to the inclines and the steep ridges we needed to navigate in order to spot each other into fish, we started to catch more. Using long leaders and large terrestrial patterns from hoppers to Marcel Terblanche’s bushwhack beetle and Ed Truter’s bal byter (a story Lionel hopefully never tells), when we get it right we pluck yellows from every second or third pool, amazed time and again at how hard they fight. We see big browns, but as Ed and Lionel found, they’re smart as all hell and difficult to catch. In the interconnecting runs between pools I swop my five-eight for a three-weight to catch a few small rainbows. And in one pool I also manage to balls up a decent shot at a hefty-looking hook-jawed rainbow. Rainbows! An added bonus; this was not on the website, but it’s a big, friendship-testing brown that I want. When it rains, which it does a lot, David the head muleteer strokes this sjambok-like whip thing that he uses to coerce the mules or donkeys that carry

the river clears we resume fishing. I approach a section where two streams of the river that separate and come together again around a big rock at the head of a pool create a triangular vortex where lines of foamy scum dotted with bugs swirl slowly. University students might call it a “safe space”. My fly, a big fluffy grey CDC thing with a purple body that I picked up in France a few years ago, lands with a juicy splat and spins in the slow-motion vortex between myriad currents. Just as I’m about to reload, I see this large white mouth rising up from the depths, a blanched Dorito of intent, my fly its dinner bell.

True story: Gandalf briefed two hobbits, Bilbo and Ballbag. The latter had GPS issues and landed up in Lesotho.

our packs into cooperating around the mountain paths. We gather the whip has come from the inner cock-bone area of a mule or donkey. Perhaps it’s ligament or a tendon of some sort, but I’m sure its original owner is no longer around to lament its absence. When he’s not whacking the living with the wangs of the dead, David tends to stroke it absentmindedly in conversation, a rueful wristie, but when the lightning and thunder are coming down as it does so frequently on the Bokong, he strokes it more vigorously aiming it at the heavens. A superstition or belief as solid or feeble as throwing salt over your shoulder or… touching wood… David says he does it to ward off lightning – along with a muti tin he carries containing a red paste that looks like Peck’s Anchovette. If the rain continues it will wash out the river for the afternoon and we will have no choice but to sit it out at camp, smoking bull and chatting about equine anatomy. Sitting under the tarp waiting out the thunder showers, I imagine that what is currently soaking through the Bokong valley is going to find its way through the Lesotho Highlands Water Project, blend with hundreds of other creeks, rivers

and dam runoff, and work its way into some auntie’s hosepipe in Bryanston as she waters the hydrangeas. From there it might drain its way into the Vaal and soak the cracks of hundreds of yellowfish nuts stumbling around Eendekuil. But right now, here at the source, it’s virginal and these yellows and browns are getting the single-malt treatment. We don’t want to lose another afternoon’s fishing so we try to fish through a squall. The rain comes down harder and the thunder cracks right above us. Fluctuating between invincibility and kakking off for lightning, which sounds like it is hitting some of the lower buttresses and kopjes around us, Bells laughs at me as I throw my rod down and lie flat in the tall grass. Like a smug git from a Wes Anderson flick, he’s popped an umbrella. Yet I’m laughing at him. A fly fishing vegetarian. With an umbrella. In a thunder and lightning storm. To purloin a phrase from Faith No More, it’s always funny until someone gets hurt and then it’s just hilarious. Back at camp, under the relative shelter of weeping willow hollowed out by campfires, David is probably laughing at us, dumbass aliens chasing aliens. When the thunder shower passes and

Ball-raising with joy I scream like a Basotho handmaiden as the fish barrels down the length of the pool. I’m screaming because I’m stoked, but also because I want to get Stu’s attention. He’s one pool down with Bells and comes running with the net. I’m also screaming because I already know that if I don’t screw it up, this will be one of the best river fish I have ever caught and my constantly divided inner monologue of “nahfuckyounahfuckyounahfuckyounahfuckyou, you’re a crap fly fisherman”, can finally take a backseat to the other guy who thinks I might be OK. That fish made what was already a great trip into an unforgettable trip. Never mind that I broke my rod about half an hour later, my gammy knee giving way on a wobbly rock. Never mind that Bells caught a comparable fish that caused us to argue about whose was bigger all the way back to Cape Town. Never mind that missed phone calls, emails, deadlines and more assailed us as we crossed the border back into South Africa and the reality of our lives. In that moment in time and in our retelling of it, Bells and I hit the moment of clarity and “sheer fucking piscatorial jubilation” and bliss Lionel spoke of. On the way back Bells and Mick found their petrol station San Pedro, but I sat in the car, a big Lesotho brown ticked, my fiancée pleased to hear I was alive, tripping on life.

“ON THE WAY BACK BELLS AND MICK FOUND THEIR PETROL STATION SAN PEDRO, BUT I SAT IN THE CAR, A BIG LESOTHO BROWN TICKED, MY FIANCÉE PLEASED TO HEAR I WAS ALIVE, TRIPPING ON LIFE.” 42

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PROFILE

JONO SHALES THE FIGHTER HOW A TENACIOUS SOUTH AFRICAN SKOLLIE, LANDED UP IN AN AUSTRALIAN PARADISE, RUNNING A SUCCESSFUL GUIDING BUSINESS (MUCH TO THE DISGUST OF HIS COMPETITION).

Brendan: (The Mission’s art director): “Jono braaied a permit. He posted some pics on Facebook.” Me: “He what?” Brendan: “A permit. Braaied. Or ‘BARBIED’, if you’re Australian.”

“Why? First off, they taste really good because they eat crabs. Then there’s the fact that there are disproportionately more permit here than any other species of fish on the flats. They are not in any shortage here. Maybe in other parts of the world, but not here. To eat one, you’ve got to be able to catch one, that’s a huge ask for most anglers. I killed it quickly,

Me: “But… a permit…” Brendan: “Ja. Coals. Salt. Pepper. Lemon. It’s now an ex permit.” Me: “Bastard!” Now before you burn this magazine and announce a fatwah on Jono Shales’s head, hear him out. His playground and office is Exmouth on Australia’s North-West coast. There he hosts guests for some of the most incredible saltwater fly fishing available anywhere. In his words, “There are more species there than almost anywhere else – in fact it’s probably the best multi-species destination on the planet.” A bold claim, but it’s backed up by catches. I could bore you with a grid of fish images, but instead I’ll list what’s regularly on the menu (fishing not braaiing that is): Wahoo, dolphin fish, sailfish, black marlin, milkfish, barramundi, mackerel, queenfish, five or six different trevallies including GTs, tuna species, mackerel, all your reef species, blue bone, massive skipjack, tuskfish, emperor species, snapper species and of course… permit. So, about that permit.

“I KITTED OUT THE CAR IN STICKERS, GAVE MY DOG TO MY EX-WIFE TO LOOK AFTER, GOT A FRIEND TO MOVE IN TO THE HOUSE AND STARTED DRIVING” in a very respectful way, bled it and put it on ice and shared it with my guest who wanted a fresh fish meal. My response to the critics was go ahead and think about what went into putting your dinner on your plate tonight and what went into putting this fish on our plates. That ended the debate. The fact that it was a permit? Other people need to get over that. I’ve got them swimming around my backyard in huge numbers.”

Interview. Tudor Caradoc-Davies Photos. Exmouth Flyfishing, Jan Bach Kristensen

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Lunch or leisure? Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all the same to Jono Shales when it comes to permit. 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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Most South African fly fishing guides, get their break close to home. It starts with some local gigs, freshwater usually, then a graduation to elsewhere in Africa (and the Seychelles). Through connections or fishily pornographic Instagram feeds, some then link up with the salmon fishing scenes or get gigs in Norway, Russia, Alaska, the Bahamas and South America. Not Jono. He took a roundabout route, only starting guiding in his 30s. Like Old Blue Eyes, he did it his way. It turned out to be the hard way, but it was undeniably his. To understand Jono, you need to understand where he comes from, his background, his training and his mentality. It starts in the mean streets of…Bryanston. Fly fishing for Jono began as it does for most guides, at home. His late brother fished and he taught Jono in the private dams and streams of Machadodorp, Finsbury and Millstream. Later his folks picked it up too. But while Jono fly fished, he was also a skateboarder, a skollie ripping it up across Bryanston. To a teenage Jono, the concept of rules didn’t apply, not only to skateboarding but also to fly fishing. While fly fishing today has broken away from the suffocating clichés it used to be associated with, back then it was very much a staid pursuit, largely focused on trout. Few people saw it the way Jono did; as a form of self-expression. “Skating was fun, but I guess fly fishing was always something I had going on in the background. Fly fishing and skating share the same thing - it’s an expression of self. No one tells you how to do it. No one has ever told me how to fly fish or skate. You do it yourself and you do it within your own parameters. You’re able to be your independent self; choosing this over that, your style, your techniques.” If skating gave him an independent streak, his next move after school, joining the South African Navy to do his national service in ’93, gave him the discipline needed to get shit done. “That was one of the best years of my life. You’re out of school and you don’t have Photo Jan Bach Kristensen

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“THERE ARE MORE SPECIES THERE THAN ALMOST ANYWHERE ELSE – IN FACT IT’S PROBABLY THE BEST MULTI-SPECIES DESTINATION ON THE PLANET.”

that hierarchy of those are the jocks and those are the dweebs. Suddenly I was given this position of ‘what you put in, is what you get out.’” Navy life spoke to Jono; in fact it suited him. The rebel responded to the regimen and took on the Navy PTI’s course, the incredibly stringent physical training instructor’s course and came out on top, surprising even himself. “It was an elite three-month course with only ten of us. The instructor came in on the first day and said, ‘No matter what happens in your life, you are going to look back on this time and draw strength from the experience of the next few months. You will never ever have to go through anything like you are about to go through now.’ Those were the truest words. We worked our arses off, carrying sandbags from Muizenberg to Gordon’s Bay, running around Cape Point, swimming with great white sharks a kilometre out to sea. They beat us, we bled, there was pain and hypothermia, but you pull through, you succeed and you realise that actually, I can do anything that I

want with my life. Nothing is going to stop me now.” That phrase; “nothing is going to stop me now” is worth remembering when it comes to Jono as his path through life has come with its share of ups and downs, snakes and ladders, success and failure. But through it all was a tenacity to finish what he started, no matter what. He admits it. “In the navy you learn a lot about yourself. What you give, you get. If you give a lot and you try hard, you will get a lot and if you just sit back and do nothing, you’re going to end up as a gate guard or some kak job like that. Resilience and tenacity is paramount to where I have got to now. I’ve chosen many different paths and bashed my head down this path and that path and tried, but eventually I came back to fly fishing which has been the easiest thing ever because it’s just natural.” So, how does one go from the South African Navy to the life of an Australian fly fishing guide? Well, Jono used to be someone else. To be more specific, like Ken of Barbie fame, he has been several someones.

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After leaving the navy, he became ‘Fitness Jono’, putting classrooms full of spandex clad and scrunchy sockwearing people through their paces as a fitness instructor. He moved to London, ran fitness classes and got in to the clubbing scene. Soon, with his ear for house music (come on, after that many aerobics classes you understand how to find the beat), he became ‘DJ Jono’. Seriously. He moved back to South Africa with his Ozzie fiancée, got into web design, still ran aerobics classes and had DJ residencies at two Pretoria clubs - playing to 10 000 people on the main stage of an ICE party at Nasrec while at his peak. Moving to Australia and getting into the web design game, he became ‘Business Jono’, working for corporates, starting his own firm, having employees and mildly crooked business partners, butting heads and getting burnt. All the while, he’s doing what the navy taught him to do, to persevere and finish the job, so while life might have sucked, he was still picking up skills in web design, marketing, photography, film and business. After all that’s where he thought his life’s trajectory was taking him, but deep down Jono

was still trying to find what it really was that he wanted to do with his life. It took him a while to realize that he had been trying Plan B all his life, while Plan A was in front of him all along. When he finally got what he wanted, he had to fight for it. “Excellent work. If you keep this up, I may have to send you a Mako reel.” People talk about life-changing moments, epiphanies and the ‘butterfly effect’; how one small thing managed to change their trajectory in such a huge way that to compare life as it was then to life as it is now is almost impossible. For Jono, the moment came in the form of an email, from a guy he did not know who

owned a brand he was not familiar with. That guy was Jack Charlton. The brand was Charlton/Mako reels. What had Jono done to deserve an electronic pat on the head from perhaps fly fishing’s most revered reel designer? He’d put together an incredible trip report on an expedition to Christmas Island. Video, images, entertaining writing – it was leagues ahead of anything else coming from most fly guides at the time. Jono was no guide back then, but he understood presentation of audio and visuals and he understood how to reach people on the web. He was a web developer and former DJ living in Sydney. Chewed up and spat out by what felt like everything he had

tried his hand at - web design, DJing, business, the ex… life essentially, he did what most of us do when we hit a crossroads. He focused on the stuff that came naturally. Fly fishing, a lifelong passion, was top of the list. “I’ve done many things, because I never knew what it was that I was looking for. The thing that I was searching for was always in front of me. It was always something that I have done since the earliest of days. This is how the whole transformation happened. I started working at home and had an idea. Why don’t I put my web design and fly fishing skills all in one and promote saltwater fly fishing in Australia? I got together with some other guys, business-minded okes

FLY FISHING AND SKATEBOARDING SHARE THE SAME THING - IT’S AN EXPRESSION OF SELF. NO ONE TELLS YOU HOW TO DO IT. NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD ME HOW TO FLY FISH OR SKATE. YOU DO IT YOURSELF AND YOU DO IT WITHIN YOUR OWN PARAMETERS. 50

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and we built SWOFFA (Saltwater Fly Fishing in Australia). We spent ages on this idea. It was a great resource with all the guides, locations, species and information. I decided to send myself on a few fishing trips to Christmas Island in the Pacific. At this time, I was still doing design, I could use a video camera and write and build websites. It was 2007 and I was single, footloose and fancy free. I wrote trip reports on the Christmas Island trips. On the back of the SWOFFA idea, I designed these amazing trip reports with a full breakdown of the trip, with photos and embedded video. At the bottom was a ‘register your interest’ function, leave your details etc. I put the reports up and left them for a week. Stuart, the chap I was working with called and said, ‘I think you need to look at this’.” The response to his trip reports was phenomenal and in the hundreds of email subscriptions and web sign-ups from fly anglers all over the world, was the message from Charlton. Jono didn’t know it at the time, but Charlton reaching out was to prove a huge turning point in his life. Through Charlton’s subsequent friendship, encouragement and endorsement (he sent Jono several reels, invited him to join the Mako pro team and gave constant support and advice), he realized that he could do something with the momentum he’d generated, so he planned a trip. With a Landcruiser and a boat, he planned to fish his way around Australia and write about the experience on the SWOFFA website. Off the back of the Charlton/Mako reel endorsement and with Charlton himself opening doors, Jono approached other sponsors from the USA. Orvis, followed by Smith Optics, Engel Fridges, Cooper tyres, Gamakatsu hooks, Scientific Anglers lines - they all came on board. “I kitted out the car in stickers, gave my dog to my ex-wife to look after, got a friend to move in to the house and started driving west, publishing my experiences on the SWOFFA website and the saltwater fly fishing forum in Australia as I went. Okes were following it and it was

generating huge amounts of traffic.” The problem was, unbeknownst to him, in the small world of Australian fly fishing, Jono had made enemies. Getting the sponsorship on the scale he had, had pissed people off. Publishing posts about great fishing around Australia, had also pissed people off. Here was a guy, who was not a guide, sharing info on where to go and what to catch. And he wasn’t even an Ozzie! As he arrived in Exmouth on the far west coast of Australia, rumors were being spread that he was guiding illegally. In reality, in order to cover expenses as he went, Jono had asked the friends and family who were coming to join him at various stages along the way, to chip in and share the costs of campsites, fuel, cold beers etc.

of the guides got word of the fact that I was now getting some money from my mates. The stance was, ‘Fuck Jono. Jono is doing illegal guiding.’ They immediately shut me down, deleted my posts and banned me from the forum. Never mind that I was just sharing costs with mates. No. I was the bad guy, the dark horse of fly fishing in Australia. It didn’t matter that I’d arranged all this myself, I was out of pocket and putting everything at risk to follow fly fishing. I didn’t know where it was taking me or where I was going to end up.”

“Once I was publishing my updates on the Ozzie fly fishing forum, some

“I got a very nice feeling arriving in Exmouth, I could see the potential

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As luck would have it, he ended up in what would be his final destination, Exmouth and the irony is that the animosity towards him was the catalyst for his career as a guide.

of the fishery. If the wind blew from this way or that way, we had options. It’s safe. It’s wide open. It’s easy. We would pack up the boat with supplies and food and tents, and sleep in the bush for a few days while having the time of our lives fishing. There was just one guy who concentrated on guiding for bonefish whereas there were so many different species to target it’s ridiculous. From the moment I got in to town, I got the middle finger from him because the guides on the East Coast had been mailing him to tell him I am going to be guiding illegally in his town.” With the ongoing animosity from the East Coast guiding crew and having discovered how amazing Exmouth was, Jono decided to get all his visiting fishing buddies to come west to Exmouth instead. The slander persisted with some of the guides

even writing to Charlton to inform him Jono was “guiding illegally”. The local authorities were told the same thing. Getting wind of it, Jono decided to nip it in the bud, by walking in to each and every relevant department and introducing himself. “I walked into the Department of Fisheries, the Department of Environment and Conservation and the Department of Transport – all the departments that heavily regulate commercial guiding. I introduced myself as a professional web developer and fly fisherman, staying with friends over there at the caravan park where we’re all sharing costs. If you want to know anything here’s my number, all stories will be published to the web site. Any questions shout, etc. They were very forthcoming and friendly. More importantly they said if I were ever interested in running

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a commercial activity, these are the licenses I would need. So then I knew.” Tenacity is not just about physical endurance, it also speaks to mental toughness and the unwillingness to have your spirit broken or give up. Jono needed that with what was to come next. After living in a tent for seven months in the local campsite and having been shunned and badmouthed by a jealous but influential portion of the Australian fly fishing guide fraternity, he went to ground in Exmouth and began pulling pints as a barman in the local hotel. To an outsider it would seem that he had regressed, after all, here was a guy who had had a successful career in Sydney, a wife, a dog and all the trimmings of normal 9-5 success. For Jono, it was all part of his plan to live the dream in Exmouth.

JONO SHALES Being a barman meant he only started late in the afternoon. That meant for most of the day he literally could do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted to do was fish. “I literally, disappeared off the face of Australian fly fishing. The Swoffa thing had been wrapped up, I wasn’t posting or promoting anything, I pulled all the stickers off the car and just disappeared. I had staff accommodation in the bar, a single little shitty room at the back, everything stunk like piss and dustbins, but I stayed there for eight months, worked in the bar in the evenings and in the day I would fish. I was balls deep in fishing five/six days a week, going everywhere, logging up the hours, figuring out different species, how to catch fish and land them on my own. I was learning the ebb and flow of the tides, when to be there and when not to be there, what those fish like and what these fish don’t like. Suddenly my ability to fish, my skillset and what I was learning was going from average to getting really good. It was the foundation to becoming a guide. I now knew stuff about this fishery. All the while in the background, the Ozzie guides won’t talk to me, I’m not on any forums, I have literally disappeared out of the public view.” While he fished, he got to work on the admin and paperwork required to set up a commercial business in Western Australia. If you think Home Affairs in South Africa is bad, they have nothing on this bunch. Pinned down by Australia’s highly complex bureaucratic red tape, Jono spent two years bouncing back and forth in a labyrinthine three-way game of inter-departmental pingpong between the Departments of Fisheries, Transport, Parks and Environment, doing what needed to be done in order to work. That included having a boat built from

scratch (even the resin on the boat needs to be a specific thickness) and getting multiple licenses. It was a long ride, but approximately 15000 pints poured, AUS$70 000 (R700 000) spent and two years of his life later, Jono was now a fully licensed guide. “There was no Plan B. My whole life had been Plan Bs. I knew that it was not going to fail, because in the background I’ve got emails from every corner of the earth from guys wanting to come fish with me and

“I’VE DONE MANY THINGS, BECAUSE I NEVER KNEW WHAT IT WAS THAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. THE THING THAT I WAS SEARCHING FOR WAS ALWAYS IN FRONT OF ME.” hang out. Whereas the other guides are often just guides who have to pay for advertising and web work, I knew I had the advantage of being able to design my own website, register my own business, do my own logos, take my own photographs - all stuff I am good at, because I’d been training for years and I can run a business. At the beginning of 2012 when I had the first guy standing in my boat, I was profiting.” He hit the ground running as if he had been guiding in Exmouth for decades. Six years of full time back-

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to-back operation later and Jono is still dominating. The bad-mouthing he experienced, turned in to positive PR, because when you search for Exmouth and fly fishing these days, Jono Shales is the name that pops up (something that drives his detractors nuts). All the groundwork he had laid with SWOFFA, the two years he spent plotting his entry into the market, combined with the experience he had in web design and business meant that Exmouth Fly Fishing cooked from the get go. The skateboarding skollie shaped by the Navy had out-lasted, out-thought and out-maneuvered an arbitrary alliance of territorial dickheads. “Doing it all on my own has inspired me to keep doing it on my own and not rely on other people. That’s that skating element of just being selfdependent coming back. If I fall over, I’ll pick myself up and keep going. I don’t want other people telling me that they got me there, that they did that for me. The only people who ever did anything for me were my folks and Jack Charlton.” His competition in Exmouth still gives Jono the bird whenever he drives past. Jono smiles, the very embodiment of Australian comedian Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson’s favorite anagram - DILLIGAF (Do I Look Like I Give A Fuck?). He has every reason to not care. He’s booked up way into next year, his Russian fiancée is moving to Exmouth, he’s added a guesthouse to the business and is a trusted ambassador for a string of top brands. Best of all, he did it his way. Jono Shales. Ex-Navy. Former fitness instructor. Retired House DJ. Fly fishing guide. Exmouth local. South African. Australian (sort of). Orvis ambassador. Mako ambassador. Wooer of Russians. Catcher of permit. Braaier of permit. Extender of a middle finger to the haters.

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L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

THE SALAD BAR

MAUI JIM ALOHA TO THE HOWZIT When we were interviewing jet-setting fly fishing spirit animal and super guide, Arno Matthee, for our issue 3 cover profile, he listed Maui Jim as his go-to choice when it comes to shades, which is why when we heard that the brand was pushing into South Africa in a big way, we engaged hyper stoke mode (the human equivalent of trout during a mayfly hatch). Perhaps most exciting is the fact that (clearly speaking to our market) they have a range model named the ‘Howzit’. Similar to their ‘Eh Brah’Model in shape, the Howzit with its stylish shape designed for medium to larger faces, features a lightweight acetate frame with double injected metal and rubber templates for longer-wearing comfort (no skeg or kop pinch after hours spent eyeballing rises). Their ST glass,

which is both 20% thinner and lighter than standard laminated glass, offers excellent clarity, excellent scratch and solvent resistance, as well as superb natural colour-enhancing elements. The lenses also feature waterproof and oleophobic coatings that shed water and repel grease and smudges (think sun cream or road trip KFC residue). Their PolarizedPlus2® lenses wipe out 99.9% of glare, allowing you to see movement through the water, manage 95% of HEV (high-energy visible radiation) and block 100% of harmful UV (ultra violet radiation) while boosting those colours to the trippy levels that make you wonder why you don’t get outside more often. Additional sun protection is provided by the patented bi-gradient mirrors that are darker at the top and bottom of each lens, so the lenses essentially squint for the wearer. In terms of lens choice, we’d recom-

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mend the Bronze HCL with its light bronze tone for fishing under variable everyday light conditions or the HT which offers the best available light transmission for great depth perception and which is also perfect for those low light conditions such as early in the morning or late in the afternoon when you want protection from the sun and glare but don’t want to cut out too much light. Howzit not your style? If you prefer more peripheral protection, the Byron Bay offers more of a wrap while the World Cup (named after the famous billfish tournament) offers a complete wrap. BONUS: Maui Jim sunglasses are available in prescription. If like most of us, your eyes need some assistance as you get older, you can order Maui Jim prescription shades at most top optometrists nationwide.

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STANLEY - MASTER VACUUM BOTTLE If the word vacuum scares you, reminding you of… awkward silences on a date, your brain at age 17, and electrical cleaning appliances – fear not. This is a vacuum you want. Keeping drinks hot for up to 40 hours, cold for 35 hours and ice for 140 hours, if Wolverine carved a thermos from his adamantine toenails, this would be the indestructible lifetime warranty end product. From R899 for the vacuum mug to R1 699 for the 1,3 litre flask. www.capeunionmart.co.za TOP TIP: The world’s strongest coffee is from… South Africa. At 58.5 mg per fluid ounce Black Insomnia could give you 702mg of caffeine in one cup of coffee. Great for that long cross-country drive to get you to Location X, but don’t overdo it. https://blackinsomnia.coffee

XPLORER WOOD BURL TROUT NETS Fancy a net that doesn’t look like every other net out there and wasn’t mass produced with thousands of others? Xplorer is bringing in new artisan wood burl* trout nets in three different shapes and sizes that celebrate the natural imperfections in wood. From R800 to R1 150. www.xplorerflyfishing.co.za *Burl is another word for “knob”, but, you know… People are childish. ORVIS – HYDROS PLIERS Occupational hazards for circus folks include flying off a trapeze the wrong way, getting the bearded ladies’ pubes in your mouth and getting your head stuck in a tiger’s jaws. For saltwater fly fishermen, one equivalent is getting your finger chomped by a triggerfish. That’s where a quality pair of pliers like the Orvis Hydros range comes in to play. Made from aircraft-grade aluminium stock (so they’re both light and strong, capisce?) these corrosion-resistant pliers not only remove hooks, but cut through mono, wire and whatever else you’re fishing with. Available from Mavungana Fly Fishing in a 7½ inch-long rounded-jaw saltwater version, they come with replacement cutters and screws plus a sheath and coil lanyard for easy access and retrieval from a trigger’s snaggletoothed maw. www.flyfishing.co.za

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L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

THE SALAD BAR SIMMS – G4 PRO® SLING PACK When it comes to slings, the boggle is usually around space. Can you find a sling that avoids the Goldilocks conundrum of being too big or too small? The G4 Pro® Sling seems to do that. Small enough for day trips, but big enough for your stuff, it sports plenty of nifty features like a water-resistant interior lining, an easy access net carry system, fold-down workbench, expansive main compartment, magnetic tool ports and a comfy shoulder strap. www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

LOOP – EVOTECH G4 REEL If fly rod and reel setups were guitars, we wager your 5-weight, that adaptable mid-range weight that can handle plenty of things with aplomb, would be your favourite axe; your Fender Stratocaster. If you’re in the market for a new favourite, Mavungana are bringing in the striking blue accented Loop Evotec 5-weight reel. With a non-friction winding handle and an “easygrip progressive brake knob” (coincidentally also an excerpt from Anthony Weiner’s biography), the Swedish brand’s reels are both good-looking and typically Scandinavian in their seamless functionality. We imagine it’s made in a factory staffed by impossibly good-looking, breastplate-wearing Nordic deities listening to eco-friendly, socially-democratic death metal. Attach it to your 5-weight rod and noodle away. www.flyfishing.co.za

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

WETTERLINGS - AMERICAN FOREST AXE #124 Cue “The Lumberjack Song” because this beauty from Swedish axe manufacturers Ketterlings is going to make you want to build a log cabin, cut down trees, skip and jump and go to the lavatory in no particular order. Swedish steel? Check. Crazy-sharp cutting edge? Check. Heavy head and long handle for energy, force, ergonomic sense and safety? Check, check, check and check! Leather sheath so that it looks like a wood-savaging pitbull that needs to be muzzled? Check. Got wood? Check. R2 200. www.justlikepapa.com

SIMMS – WINDSTOPPER FLAP CAP Simms call this “a portable heater you can wear on your head”, which is a fair description of what this double-layered wool/acrylic knit, bolstered by a gust-thwarting interior WINSTOPPER® laminate, does for you when faced with icy weather that would make Jon Snow poep his broeks. Winter is coming? Meh, bring it. www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

BUFF – BALACLAVA PRO

SIMMS – GORTEX EXTREAM HAT

When you’re on a frozen Eastern Cape lake, the trout are feeding on buzzers, but it’s colder than a polar bear’s perineum, you need to dress correctly. After all, haven’t your mates always told you you could be a balaclava model? www.justlikepapa.com Bonus: you could go straight from the lake to a cash-in-transit heist if you were so inclined.

Storm of the century, but you want to fish come hell or high water? Triple up with three-layer GORE-TEX® ExStream™ Simms. Fully waterproof, the quilted fleece-lined head furnace is fully adjustable for those with giant melons or too much hair. Black under the brim reduces glare. If Elmer Fudd chased wainbows with a rod instead of wabbits with a shotgun, this would be his hat. www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

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WANDS

THE MISSION X SWIFT EPIC INTRODUCE… THE GREEN MAMBA

SPECS: • FastGlass™ fly rod blank with internally reinforced ferule system. Finished in metallic gold green with freaking scales and snake-eye detail! • High-quality fibreglass rod tube • Premium hand-sewn rod sock • Cleaning cloth • Finest quality Portuguese cork grip • Full cork fighting butt with composite cork end (no cheap close cell foam) • Epic reel seat in black finish • Guide set (Snake brand Universal guides USA) • Two premium-quality titanium stripper guides with Japanese SiC inserts • Swift’s signature Epic Ghost Wraps in premium Japanese silk with fine one-turn pinstripe midway over each guide foot With its flexibility and power in reserve, this rod self-loads a full line very easily, even with only a little line out. The Bandit blank is designed for muscling hefty fish out of tough situations. Slinging big flies under bridges and off shelves at behemoth kob from the Transkei estuaries to the Breede River? Teasing Okavango barbell-run tigerfish into ambush mode? Enticing the dirty-fighting “Blue Congo” yellowfish out of the bushed-in rivers of Lavushi Manda? Designed to out-punch bad-ass sluggers in tight conditions, The Green Mamba will be your weapon of choice. Make no mistake: all these species and more will put a beautiful bend in The Green Mamba, but that’s the beauty of Swift’s FastGlass™.*

T H E G R E E N M A M B A’ S G O T YO U C O V E R E D .

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B U I LT E X C L U S I V E LY F O R T H E M I S S I O N B Y SWIFT’S IN-HOUSE ROD GURU TREVOR BOURNE, THE GREEN MAMBA IS A UNIQUE, ONE-OFF BASED ON THE EPIC RANGE’S L E G E N D A R Y # 1 0 , 7 ’ 9 ”, T H R E E - P I E C E BANDIT FIBREGLASS BLANK.

WIN THIS ONE-OF-A-KIND ROD! - - - -

Follow and/or like @themissionflymag and @swiftflyfishing on Instagram and Facebook. Keep an eye out for our The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine’s posts about The Green Mamba giveaway on Facebook and Instagram. Comment on one of the posts, or both, by describing your perfect Green Mamba mission. One entry per person per platform. Thank us later.

* Many anglers believe that glass rods do a better job of subduing big fish, because the greater bend of the rod means the fish tires faster than it would when fighting a stiffer graphite stick.

Competition terms and conditions 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

By entering this competition, you consent to having your name and/or image reproduced online on The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing’s websites, as well as their social media profiles. All content shared with The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine as entry into the competition may be used on The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing’s websites, and their associated digital platforms. Entries close at 8pm (GMT+2) on Thursday 31 August 2017. Winners will be notified via Facebook message no later than Monday 4 September 2017 at 5pm (GMT+2). Representatives of The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing will draw one winner by random selection from all entries. The judges’ decision is final and no correspondence will be entered into. The winner will receive one 10-weight The Mission X Swift Fly Fishing Green Mamba rod and case. Prizes are non-transferable. Entry into the competition and acceptance of any prize shall constitute consent on the winner’s part to allow the use of the winner’s name, image, voice and/or likeness by The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing for editorial, advertising, promotional, marketing and/or other purposes without further compensation except where prohibited by law. This competition is not open to The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing staff and their families.

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M U S T H AV ES

PAYDAY NIXON – THE MISSION We were flattered when Nixon brought out The Mission in honour of us until we realised that our inflated egos were getting in the way again and it was all just a massive coincidence. Still, they might as well have designed it with us in mind. With the highest waterproof rating of any smartwatch on the market, The Mission is also shock resistant (hello Gorilla® Glass crystal) and features a mic on the left-hand side, so when something big pulls you off the rocks, you’re still all good to dictate Whatsapp updates to your group of chinas: “into a big fish, busy drowning…lol” Built for Android Wear, it sports an altimeter, barometer, thermometer, compass, gyrometer, accelerometer and humidity sensors. Most importantly, for our purposes, it features real-time surf alerts powered by Surfline® so you can check if the tides are right at that honey hole. R7 999, www.nixon.com

THE FLY FISHER BY THORSTEN STRUBEN AND JAN BLUMENTRITT Fly fishing books tend to take the form of how-to manuals, wistful memoirs (“there she lay, finning gently in the dappled sunlight… I knew she’d be mine”) and the odd novel. The Fly Fisher – The Essence and Essentials of Fly Fishing is different. A coffee table-style book that attempts to explain the why of fly fishing as much as it does the how, it’s the kind of book that is as likely to look good in your man cave as it would in the lounge. In fact, with two editors (Loop ambassador Thorsten Strüben and photojournalist Jan Blumentritt) behind it creating stunning images and style spreads of gear and flies, it almost feels more like a high-quality magazine or journal than it does a book… in a good way. To fly anglers it will be comfortingly familiar. To the fly-curious, it will be the push they need. €39.90 (R580) from shop. gestalten.com

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The Fly Fisher The Essence and Essentials of Fly Fishing

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57 For your nearest dealer contact Frontier Distribution on info@frontierflyfishing.co.za

SHORTCASTS G O O D S T U F F, G R E AT W H I S K Y, F I L M S , F ES T S & M O R E

MAKE… … Yourself a solid winter cocktail, like this Old Fashioned using Jameson • 60ml Jameson Irish Whiskey • 1 sugar cube • 2 dashes Angostura bitters • Splash club soda • Orange slice • Maraschino cherry In a rocks glass, muddle together the sugar cube, Angostura bitters and splash of club soda until sugar is dissolved. Add ice (if you feel like it) and top up with whiskey. Garnish with an orange slice and a cherry (or just pretend you did and drink the thing as is).

LISTEN… … To The DrakeCast, the podcast of fly fishing Bible The Drake. Like NPR for fly fishing, the first issue features musicians and fly fishermen Sean Carey (of Bon Iver and S.Carey) and Ben Lester (Field Report, The Tallest Man on Earth, Sufjan Stevens). Soundcloud. com

WATCH… … World Champion caster Tim Rajeff of Echo Fly Rods demonstrates how to cast a glass fly rod. A lot of people trying out glass after years spent on graphite struggle with the action. If you can get past your envy of Tim saying, “Beautiful spring day on a nice creek here in Argentina…” the man will share some solid pearls of casting wisdom. https://vimeo.com/rajeffsports FOLLOW… … Micky Wiswedel on Instagram (@shootmickshoot). Sure, he shot our Lesotho feature, so we admit our bias, but as the winner of the Red Bull Illume “Wings” category and the Stocksy Sports Photographer of the Year, it’s undeniable: the man has skills. His photos make you want to quit your day job and get out there. www.instagram.com/shootmickshoot

WIN… … A slot on the Rim of Africa through-hike. Think Pacific Crest or Appalachian Trail, but in South Africa, across the incredible mountains of the Southern and Western Cape. Choose between a section (seven days) or the whole through-hike (32 days). If you discover any hidden trout or yellowfish streams deep in “dem dar hills”, do get in touch with us… rimofafrica.co.za

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20170501 Full Page Advert.pdf

02/05/2017

08:47

CMY

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Stay for 5 Nights: August 24th - August 29th 2017 Private Charter, Lanseria to Lukulu via Livingstone, return. Contact us for Rates, Terms & Conditions Apply

FLUFF

THE CLOUSER MINNOW A S T O L D T O G O R D O N VA N D E R S P U Y. Photos. Care of Lefty Kreh

When he came up, I dropped half a dozen in his hand. He first looked at them and said, “What? Are they done?” I said, “Yeah, remember the old rule, keep it sparse.” Ever since then it just went through the whole country and all across the world. I think it’s been number one for 12 straight years in Field and Stream magazine. Lefty himself has caught over 95 species on it and I’ve been shipping flies out to a fella who is retired and has more time than Lefty to fish, and he has caught 114 species on that fly pattern. Bob and Lefty, the Clouser Minnow and Lefty’s Deceiver.

f challenged to select and fish one pattern and one pattern only for the rest of our lives, most would choose a Clouser minnow. It catches almost anything, from large salt species to bass to trout and everywhere in between. Bob Clouser tells us how it came about. I don’t think I thought of the Clouser right away. It was an evolution of different patterns that I had. My biggest learning step was watching the fish catch the bait and watching what the bait did while it was being chased. That made me build the hurt part or the escaping part into my fly patterns and also taught me about retrieving and what you should do to your fly to make it look like an escaping baitfish. I didn’t build the fly to look like the bait. I built the fly to move like the bait that’s escaping.

Before the Clouser, we had a fly that was just as good but it was so ugly it wouldn’t sell. You have to make something to please the buyer too. We just called the fly a bucktail streamer and it had split shot pinched on the hook, we even painted eyes on the split shot to make it look good. It just didn’t look good. We used it ourselves because it worked and then Wapsi Fly, which was owned by Tom Schmucker, sent Lefty [Kreh] and I a box of eyes that were made from lead poured into bead chain moulds, and when I saw them I knew right away what to do with them. I used them and they simulated the eyes, but still gave me the weight I needed to make this fly work like an escaping baitfish, with the retrieve I needed, of course. I went out on the river and caught one bass after the other. I called Lefty and I said, “Lefty, we got something here now.”

We usually fish the fly in semi-clear to clear water and even in tannic acid water, we just use appropriate colour combinations. Fish take the fly on the fall, in between the strips, on the pause. Fish that do not have teeth have to inhale the fly. The easiest time for those fish to take that fly is when you stop the strip. It pauses and falls. They actually just swim right into it. Fish that have teeth will come and bite on it. The best way for that is when the fish slows down so they can bite on it to cripple it. Initially when I came up with the fly I said to Lefty, “What are we gonna call this?” Lefty said, “Well, it’s tied by Clouser and it goes deep, let’s call it a Clouser deep minnow.” So, Clouser became a household name in the fishing world.

“WHAT ARE WE GONNA CALL THIS?” LEFTY SAID, “WELL, IT’S TIED BY CLOUSER AND IT GOES DEEP, LET’S CALL IT A CLOUSER DEEP MINNOW.” 66

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MAVUNGANA FLYFISHING’S NEW WEBSITE!

WWW.FLYFISHING.CO.ZA TO CELEBRATE 20 YEARS OF BUSINESS WE HAVE LAUNCHED OUR NEW WEBSITE... FRESH LOOK AND FEEL, SAME WORLD-CLASS SERVICE AND PRODUCTS

Explore - check out Mavungana Flyfishing’s private waters Discover – we have an incredible range of local and international destinations covering the best fly fishing target species. Your ‘trip of a lifetime’ awaits. Shop online - gear up with the latest tackle from the world’s best brands. Learn – from the best in the business with Mavungana Flyfishing’s professional guiding as well as corporate events, interactive charity events and consultation.

Mavungana JHB Illovo Square, 3 Rivonia Road,JHB, Gauteng, 011 268 5850

Connect – follow us on Instagram, join us on Facebook get stuck into our blog. Prefer bricks and mortar? Our Johannesburg and Dullstroom stores are going nowhere. Call now to book trips or find out about the latest gear. Contact Mavungana Johannesburg (011 2685850) or Dullstroom (013 2540270) info@flyfishing.co.za www.flyfishing.co.za

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The Mavungana Flyfishing Centre Main Road Dullstroom, 1 1 1 0 , S A , 0 1 3 2 5 4 6072 7 0

THE REEL DEAL

THE SILENT ASSASSIN HOW AN ICONIC SOUTH AFRICAN REEL AND A POD OF S M A L L M O U T H Y E L L O W F I S H TA U G H T J A M E S C H R I S T M A S A LITTLE LESSON IN ACOUSTICS Story: James Christmas

Grumpy 2 only had a couple of average fish between them.

n my journey through a life of fly fishing, I have been fortunate to mission with a few pre-eminently fishy dudes. About 18 years ago, I fished regularly with Dave Butler and Paul Boyers. They introduced me to the world class fishery of Sterkfontein Dam. I had fished a lot on KwaZulu-Natal stillwaters that I guided on, but Sterkies was new to me. Conditions were not ideal; overcast, breezy and the fish were certainly not colliding with each other to take our flies. I found myself carefully creeping along the cliffs on a windward section all on my lonesome. I was a long way ahead of Paul and Dave, because – ‘good okes’ that they are – they had told me that once the fishing got started, I was not really welcome within at least a good few fly lines of them. They made it abundantly clear that being a big guy, I was like an amber traffic control light flashing at the fish. I can take a hint. The upside of fishing ahead of them soon became apparent as I stumbled upon the motherlode. Clearly there must have been a pocket of warmer water, and a dik foam line as well for there were smallmouth yellowfish everywhere! I was so stoked - I had these fatties all to myself, while I knew that for all their efforts, Grumpy 1 and

As my Kauffman’s Stimulator was inhaled on the first cast, I checked up the bank to see if my mates had noticed. While these two had a lot of Sterkies missions behind them, being new I was keen to prove that I could cut it with the best. Torn between wanting to show off my success and wanting to wallow in this honey hole alone, I soon realized that it was unlikely that they had noticed. By that time of the day, you could usually blindfold them with a shoelace from a pair of G4 wading boots. Now the smallie or geelvis is not a species known to roll over and play dead, so while this thing was giving me a proper rev, the silky smooth drag of my Pentz Predator really came into its own and soon a bar of polished gold was gulping air at my feet. I slipped out the hook and released the fish. Next cast, another fat bar of olive gold! I looked again up the bank, hoping one of the Grumpies would see my rod buckled and maybe come a little closer to take a pic. Nope. As the Pentz got another work out, silently bringing in another yellow, it dawned on me that if I had been using my recently demoted Okuma Scierra reel, the scream of the noisy drag would have been heard by my mates. Still, photo or no photo, glory or no glory, I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself. Two up and the rest of the big shoal of fat smallmouths had hardly noticed. I sat for a bit and waited, hoping to line up with one of the big females that swam further back behind the school, following along as they made a slow circle around the edge of a big patch of foam. I resisted the urge to gooi at a nice smallie that was spanking topwater, because about ten metres further out was a much bigger female just cruising lazily. I cast and the Stimulator came down perfectly ahead of this fish. She got there

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in her own sweet time and calmly slurped my fly down. When I pricked her, she exploded on the surface and really took off hard into the inky depths. Again, I glanced sideways. This time, Dave had picked up on the action and was wheel spinning as he negotiated the steep, tricky bank towards me. Not to help net the fish or take a photo mind you. My fish was still a long way out when Dave’s dry landed expertly ahead of a pod of smallies. The fly had hardly made an imprint on the meniscus, when he went tight. As line peeled out from his freaked out smallie, Dave ‘s reel screeched and the whole shoal of fish disappeared as if a bull shark had just crash landed on top of them. It was a “Eureka!” moment for me. Until that point, I had really taken most of what I had learnt from piscatorial literature to heart, particularly the stuff about how external sound penetrates poorly into water. Clearly, the frequency of a screeching drag did not fall into this category of sound because these fish had reacted immediately to the sound of Dave’s reel. I let Dave know that I called bullshit on his, “best you stay away from us because you will spook fish” story. The silent drag of my Pentz Predator went from being unimpressive to being the defining feature of my reel choices to date. These days, my Pentz Predator is looking a little tired, partly because I have spent the last ten years chasing saltwater species, but I am going to send mine back to Anton Pentz for a little tender love and care. The next time I find myself on the banks of Sterkies you can be sure I will remain both unseen and unheard. James Christmas of Upstream Fly Fishing, developed the NYAP, the Sand Prawn and numerous other fish-catching patterns while guiding extensively throughout the Seychelles.

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Chocolate starfish? No sir! Have you ever tried a blue starfish? 70

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LIFER

TOM SUTCLIFFE THE DOYEN Photos Care of Tom Sutcliffe

f fly fishing in South Africa is synonymous with one name, it’s Tom Sutcliffe. An author, artist, doctor, family man and revered trout stalker; from the stillwaters and rivers of KwaZulu-Natal, the Eastern Cape, the Western Cape and everywhere else in between, Sutcliffe’s has been a life very well fished. The first fish I remember catching was a brown trout that, if cooked, you could have eaten between two slices of buttered bread. I had caught other small fish by then, aged nine, off jetties and in gullies on rare visits to the coast, but this was the first fish I remember.

an honorary resident’s permit. I say “Rhodes by default” because about five years ago my wife and I put in a full asking-price offer on a house in the village without electricity and on four plots with a rambling garden full of birds. We liked the thought of living a life surrounded by solitude, mountains, fishing and birds, but especially we liked being independent of Eskom. Then some last-minute horse trading on the seller’s part crept in and sadly the deal fell off the table. The best advice I have ever been given (and understand that I took 30 minutes thinking about the answer) is, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

My home waters hover somewhere between the streams in the Western Cape and those around Barkly East, Rhodes and Maclear. I’m not sure what the right answer is anymore. It’s one of the things I am majorly confused about.

The thing I am most proud of is contributing to the growth of fly fishing in South Africa, being the father of five wonderful children and being included in the book The Best Fishing Stories Ever Told (Skyhorse Publishing, New York).

On a typical day I am up early, I do some writing, go to work, get home early, walk the dog for an hour, do some more writing, then read in bed

The best party trick I have ever seen is my own. I move in behind a guy who’s left his rod lying flat on the ground as he’s tackling up, then snap a dry twig near his ear and shout, “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!”

At first I was a GP for 10 years, then I moved into health administration, a move that ended up in my running the health services for the Western Cape Province for eight years, proving beyond doubt that I had sinned in a previous life. The last few years I have worked in fields allied to psychiatry. I have called five places home. Johannesburg, Stellenbosch, Pietermaritzburg and Cape Town. And Rhodes by default, where I have

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Writing is hard work. What comes naturally is standing in little-fished mountain streams casting dry flies over naive and desperately hungry rainbow trout that don’t notice drag and are correspondingly obliging. I’ve never disliked a place where there was fishing. The best way to impress a woman is to try your best not to.

To make my favorite drink, boil a kettle of water, take it off the coals till just off the boil, add coffee grounds generously and egg shells to help smooth the flavour. Break off a stick and stir well. Add a tiny dash of cold water just before serving. Milk and sugar to taste, if at hand. One skill I would like to master is really early roadside speed-camera detection. To learn how to best face your fears, read Mario Cesare’s latest book, and I’m being serious. It’s called The Heart of a Ranger. He spells it all out. A must-read for everyone alive and literate. By the way, Mario happens to be a great fly fisher, never mind a serious thorn in the side of countless rhino poachers – past and present. Something I’d like to do before I die is go back to chase steelhead in the

Skeena River System, British Columbia. In terms of my artistic process, I really wish I had a rock solid one. I dream up images of what I want to capture in pen and ink, or in paint, and when the image is fairly well defined in my head I do the preliminary pencil sketches and when I’m happy with those, I start. But it’s a strange thing. Some days it just won’t work; other days it flows. I think what helps is doing art that I feel inspired to do. Like when a mom orders a painting for her son’s 21st, or a wife for her husband; when you just know that what you are doing is really important because it comes as a gift straight from someone else’s heart. What I get out of fly fishing has not changed in any way I can really discern. I love it as much. A sharper question would have been, “What

does fly fishing get out of me?” The answer would be, “Far less.” I’m a lot older now and some days it really feels like it. If I could change one thing in fly fishing, it would be the hovering horde of sanctimonious, tree-hugging, anti-trout lobbyists. I’d like them all to admit they are also alien, to be true to their scriptures and return henceforth to the colder northern climes their assorted distant ancestors originally came from. Looking back on my life, if there was one thing I would do differently, I would be less consumed with guilt about spending time on myself and what I like. Read into that, if you like, to have done more fishing. The last fish I caught was a rainbow trout all of 10 inches long – if you stretched the tape a bit.

“WHAT COMES NATURALLY IS STANDING IN LITTLE-FISHED MOUNTAIN STREAMS CASTING DRY FLIES OVER NAIVE AND DESPERATELY HUNGRY RAINBOW TROUT” 72

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

For your nearest dealer contact Frontier Distribution on info@frontierflyfishing.co.za