The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #8

BACKSTAGE AT

ASTOVE

BLOOD, SWEAT & BEERS

ISSUE 08

MARCH | APRIL 2018

FREE

THEMISSIONFLYMAG.COM

DALE STEYN, GABON, MONGOLIA, EDUARDO GARCIA, FOREST TROUT, OZZIE DEATH, BEERS, BEATS AND MORE...

experience counts for everything We fondly refer to these guys as the A-team! T&T advisor Keith Rose-Innes and ambassadors Devan van der Merwe and Alec Gerbec collectively make up one of the most experienced and knowledgable teams in fly fishing anywhere. Hardcore professionals like these guys 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, Keith, Devan, Alec and their team of guides in the Seychelles are our unsung heroes. We salute you.

we’ve got you covered… introducing the new t&t sextant and exocett ss. remarkably light. extraordinarily strong.

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

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W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M ISSUE 8 MARCH | APRIL 2018

CONTENTS Cover image: Backstage at Astove - from left - Robin Colepeper, Jess Reed,Cameron Musgrave, Stuart Webb, Oliver Thompson and the rest of the guide team do the grunt work that precedes the guests’ arrival. Photo Kyle Reed.

16 ALPINE TOADS IN NEW ZEALAND With Leonard Flemming 18 UNDERCURRENT: DIY DEATH MARCH With Conrad Botes 22 HIGH 5s With Francois Botha 26 THE THIN BLUE LINE Rather than brown nose their way to the source of a legend, Jazz Kuschke and Leroy Botha go searching for forest trout the hard way.

40 OUTER MONGOLIA & INNER PEACE James Topham on taimen, Ray LaMontagne and the Mongolian Mile.

54 BETTER OF ED Chris Bellingham on Eduardo Garcia poking the bear and living to tell the tale.

64 VENI, VIDI (and a bit of) VICI Big fish, lost fish, triumph and failure as Tudor Caradoc-Davies details the ins and outs of an exploratory mission in Gabon.

76 BLOOD, SWEAT & BEERS Astove is paradise, but even paradise has a backstage.

Guide Kyle Reed’s photo essay gives us a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

REGULAR FEATURES 08 Ed’s Letter 10 Masthead 12 Wishlist Fish 14 Beers & Beats 90 Salad Bar

Payday 96 Shortcasts 98 Fluff 100 The Emerger 102 The Lifer - Dale Steyn 106

The money shot as Tommy Hradecky celebrates a hefty milkfish with milkmaid Brandon Poole. Photo Kyle Reed.

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

Photo: Francois Botha

CONNECTIONS rumours of there being lost streams of brown trout hiding out there, just like the legends of ghostly pachyderms roaming the Knysna forest. In retrospect, we should have called that story Jumbo Browns. Jazz went with LeRoy Botha, a musician from the Garden Route, who happens to know Conrad Botes, our editor at large.

See? Connections, doll.

Then there’s Tim Leppan, the first to feature on The Emerger page for talented up and coming groms. He and our art director connected with each other through some co-dependent, heavy breathing, Instagram stalking.

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f ever an issue has an unspoken theme, it’s this one and the theme would be about connections. Not just the fish, though this entire magazine is about that ultimate connection, be it with a mammoth tarpon, a tiny trout, toothy tigerfish and everything in between. We’re talking about the people who make everything possible.

Connections came into play during our trip to Gabon when guide Arno Matthee had to make a plan when his skiffs didn’t arrive on time in Port Gentil. Arno, known locally as Monsieur Beacoup de Glaçon (Mr Lots of Ice), got a friend who owns a fishing shop to free up a boat for us to rent for a few days.

Connections spidered all over the place when we realised our mate Chris Bellingham, happened to know celebrity chef and survivor Eduardo Garcia. They’d done an Atlantic crossing and sailed around the Caribbean many moons ago and had kept in touch, long before Eduardo was shocked into the public eye through what happened to him (pg 44). Then, Becca Skinner, Eduardo’s fiancée and someone whose work as a National Geographic adventurer we’ve followed for a while, kindly supplied us with most of the images for Eduardo’s story.

Connections, in a more technological sense, came into play in the Astove story (pg 60) when guide Kyle Reed promised me he would send a hard drive with images of the Astove preseason prep. It was to arrive back in civilisation with guests departing this remote Seychelles atoll. Only one chance – no do-overs. With deadline looming and despite my panicking and the multiple ways (email, Whatsapp, carrier pigeon, telepathy) I sent reminders to him, Kyle delivered on time via a labyrinthine logistical effort that stretched from the flats of Cosmoledo to Astove, to Alphonse, on to Mahe and ultimately to Cape Town, South Africa via three Sat phones, a few favours and some connections of his own. What a biscuit!

Jazz Kuschke is an old connection from back when I used to work at Men’s Health magazine. He went deep into the wilds of the Southern Cape to do some myth-busting around

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As for legendary Protea’s fast bowler Dale Steyn - we’d been struggling to connect with him. But when we mentioned it to the guys at Mavungana Flyfishing who knew him from previous trips, they hooked us up with an intro.

Throughout the issue, the connections kept coming through for us, from Richard Wale with a Namibian Steenbras Wishlist Fish fresh from an exploratory trip, to Francois Botha with his High 5s being sent to us via Whatsapp and email from Pira Lodge deep in the Ibera Marshlands in Argentina; to Alphonse Island’s Alec Gerbec coming to the party with his Reaper popper patter; to the guys from Howler Bros in Austin, Texas (who we met at Icast in Florida last year) weighing in with a phenomenal playlist.

Though it might appear as if this is a massive name-dropping exercise, that’s not the intention (bonus if that earns us Brownie points though). It’s more that we are all in awe at what amazing things can happen when a broke, start-up magazine driven by three guys and a whole whack of passionate friends and fans, decide they want to tell cool stories together.

At The Mission, we politely request, we hustle, we remind, we nudge and we beg as nobly as we can. We call in connections with our palms open and our message clear: ‘We want to tell your story, but just so you know, er…there’s no money in this.’

‘We have eternal gratitude on offer. Maybe some whiskey too.’

‘What we can promise, is that we will not mess too much with the story you want to tell, save for cleaning it up. We’ll make you sound good, like how you do after one beer, but don’t after eight.”

We put tendrils of good will out there. For the most part they are not cut off, but tend to return with a bounty of great stories and insights from all over the world.

People want to do cool things with us.

It’s beautiful. Sniff.

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A Sistine Chapel moment as Ryan Wienand says ‘toetsiens, mooi bly’ to a hefty GT at the Alphonse Invitational. Photo Cameron Musgrave.

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 EDITORS Gillian Caradoc-Davies ADVERTISING SALES brett@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 STYWE PK.

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CONTRIBUTORS #07 Leonard Flemming, Kyle Reed, Francois Botha, Richard Wale, Howler Bros, Brandt Botes, Jazz Kuschke, James Topham, Chris Bellingham, Alec Gerbec, Dale Steyn.

PHOTOGRAPHY #07 Kyle Reed, Leonard Flemming, Francois Botha, Cameron Musgrave, Jazz Kuschke, James Topham, Becca Skinner, Jenny Jane, Nathan Norby, Arno Matthee, Andrew Burr, Jonty Andrews, Gareth Reid, Stuart Purnell.

@THEMISSIONFLYMAG

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WISH LIST FISH

THE NAMIBIAN STEENBRAS WE COVET STEENBRAS AT THE BEST OF TIMES, BUT WE’VE RECENTLY BEEN INTRODUCED TO THEIR BUTTERBALL COUSINS FROM NAMIBIA (AKA NAMBIA).

INSTANT FISH CRUSH. JUST ADD WATER.

“Am I in shape? Pffft. Round IS a shape, Richard.” Photo Stuart Purnell.

What: West Coast Steenbras, aka West Coast Sea Bream, aka Lithognathus aureti (if you live in Ancient Rome).

A relative of the White Steenbras (Lithognathus Lithognathus) common in South Africa, these chunky buggers feed on benthic invertebrates, including sand mussels, polychaete worms and crabs. On a recent exploratory trip to Namibia, Richard Wale of Big Catch Fly managed to sightfish to, and catch, a couple. He weighs in on what it took.

in the surf. Wale targeted them at Meob Bay, a mid-length dune drive south of Walvis Bay. He says, “Look for depressions and gullies formed between sandbanks that run parallel to the beach. Try and find the tidal gaps. Just before low tide, on low tide and just after low tide. As soon as the water pushes higher, the waves push over the sandbank and you get bigger waves and more turbulence. The key is to find water where you can keep the fly in the zone.”

Where: Found historically in shallow water (max depth 10m) from Angola to Cape Town, these fish are rare outside of Namibian waters. Unlike White Steenbras that frequent estuaries, Namibian or West Coast Steenbras are found exclusively

How: With windy conditions, a fast sinking line with a shooting head is essential. Wale says, “It’s always blowing there and quite often it’s the south-wester which is in your face. You run down as the waves recede, bomb out a cast and then try to manage Photo Richard Wale.

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your line between the next wave and the long shore drift. Rod choice - from 9-weight to 12-weight depending on how harsh the conditions are. For fly choice – I caught on the ‘Klein Rooi Jakkals’ (the Small Red Jackal), named after the scavenger that pops up along the Namibian coastline.

The fly resembles a pudding worm – a red worm from the polychaete family similar to a wonder worm or moonshine worm (for a step-bystep on the ‘Klein Rooi Jakkals’ visit www.themissionflymag.com).

Who: While the viability of area as a guided destination is being assessed, for any info either DIYing it or a hosted trip, to Richard Wale at Big Catch (www.bigcatch.co.za).

this still on talk Fly

Introducing the new EVO and XTR machined reels

FODDER

BEERS & BEATS THE BEATS

THE BEER - DRIFTER Drought-friendly beer? Believe it ya big camel. South Africa’s Western Cape is in the grips of a severe drought with Cape Town set to be the first major international city to actually run out of water. Taking this into account, the team at Drifter Brewing Company has introduced their newest beer, the Water Restriction Gosé, brewed with a small percentage of ocean water.

Drifter’s Anna Anderson says, “The idea is to continue to bring awareness about our drought and what we as a brewery are doing to save water, by substituting some of our fresh, potable water with a little sea water, which is why we called it the Water Restriction Gosé. Since 2016, we have lowered our general water consumption by 46% through more efficient cleaning systems and rainwater catchments at our brewery in Woodstock. We’re continuing to think ahead about what will happen when day zero comes and how we can keep cutting down on any water wastage.”

Along with delivering some delicious, relatively guilt-free quaffing, the beer contains hints of coriander and floral notes with a slight salty tartness (coincidentally, the same description given to our Art Director after he’s had two beers). Refreshing when enjoyed Mexican style with a slice of lime, the Water Restriction Gosé sports a golden apricot colour, low bitterness and only 4,5% ABV. Another salt-related release from Drifter is their Ocean Aged Tripel. Stashed in the sea off Cape Point for a year (and, thankfully, retrieved) this Belgian-style tripel benefited from the secondary fermentation provided by the motion of the ocean and features citrus and banana tasting notes. At 10% ABV it packs a punch, like a clouser to the head. www.drifterbrewing.co.za

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‘Hello from Texas’ The Mission Playlist Vol. 6 by Howler Brothers Visit www.themissionflymag.com to listen ON REPEAT AT MISSION HQ

Eight Dayz What’s So Strange About Me

Tom Waits The Early Years

Perfume Genius Queen

Beastie Boys Son of Neckbone

The Flaming Lips Turn It On

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Jack Parow Boepens vark

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TRY BEFORE YOU BUY! Investing in a new rod can be daunting. Which one do you go for? Brand X or Brand Y? What’s the right weight for the fishing you intend to do? Which reel do you pair it with? Fast action? Medium? How about…fibreglass?

You could just read some reviews or select one at random, but why not make an informed decision? At Mavungana Flyfishing, you can try, from our huge selection of brands, before you buy. Our Dullstroom store has its own casting pond (complete with a few pet trout) so you can rig up a selection of rods, test them all and find the perfect one for you. And, while our Johannesburg store does not have a pond, if you make an appointment, we can arrange for you to test our rods.

Mavungana Flyfishing Johannesburg 011 268 5850

From Orvis to Loop, Xplorer to Hardy, Sage, G. Loomis, Greys, Winston, Scott and Stealth – from the high-end, big name brands to reliable, great value options that will never let you down – we’ve got them all. We’ve also got the expertise to help you make the right decision.

Come try before you buy at Mavungana Flyfishing and we will help you find the rod you’ve been looking for.

Call our Dullstroom (013 2540270) or Johannesburg (011 2685850) stores to book your appointment! info@flyfishing.co.za / www.flyfishing.co.za

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Mavungana Flyfishing Dullstroom 013 254 0270

NEW ZEALAND

ALPINE TOADS FEW PEOPLE GO TO NEW ZEAL AND AND COME BACK WITH STORIES O F B R O O K T R O U T A N D E E L S O N F LY. B U T T H E N F E W P E O P L E A R E L E O N A R D F L E M M I N G O F F E AT H E R S & F L U O R O .

Photos Leonard Flemming.

Leonard Flemming and a chunky New Zealand brook trout appear to have similar gaping mouths when at rest.

Is it a salamander?

Is it a frog…?

No, it’s a friggen brook trout! There I was clutching my first brookie while getting worked from behind by sharp tussock shoots. When its head surfaced it really did look like an amphibian creature, mostly like a toad with its bulgy little eyes popping out of its olive head. I double checked it to make sure that it really was a fish and then

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quickly reached down before the thrashing animal had a chance to slip off the hook. Getting my boots stuck in the mud and poked in the bum by prickly grasses didn’t matter to me, I just wanted to get that brook trout under the belt; after all, it had been on my dream list for many years.

I was told that rivers and lakes across New Zealand had been stocked with this much wanted sport fish, but that only two still

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water populations made it. The South Island spot was mentioned and I was there the next weekend.

A small alpine lake high in the Hakatere Conservation Park that looked very unattractive for fishing was their home. Regardless of the feminine name, Lake Emily was a dark, peat-stained, troll tub full of weeds. It was also shallow with a circumference that one could walk in a few minutes. That was probably the only thing about it

that made me happy; the fish were confined to a small area and had few places to hide.

It was windy in the mountains and the sun was burning down on the black water. I chose to fish the windward bank, getting churned by waves, after learning that carp, especially, liked to feed on that side of a dam because of all the food that wind accumulates.

The soup of mud, algae, weed strands and insects didn’t look great for trout, but brooks are in fact char, a fish with a character all its own.

I guess that’s where I did something different to the few Kiwis that dared to seduce these tricky toads. The locals only caught before sunrise, before a cold front. They were shocked that the South African managed to pull off a brookie in blazing sun and blistering wind.

Sometimes, beginner’s luck pays off.

After schooling them in their own game, I tried their jam and caught two more brooks, one of them a real beast.

While chilling on the bank and chewing on a victory sarmie to let the excitement of my catch sink in, I noticed another frog face just under the surface in front of me.

Like a catfish, it was attracted by the sandwich-munching splash of my rod tip on the water and the fish engulfed the zonker when it dropped.

Watching the giant longfin eel dancing on the surface had me frothing at the mouth with excitement. Never mind brook trout, catching an eel was a lifelong fantasy come true and catching it on fly added the cherry on top of my New Zealand species list.

“REGARDLESS OF THE FEMININE NAME, LAKE EMILY WAS A DARK, PEAT-STAINED, TROLL TUB FULL OF WEEDS. IT WAS ALSO SHALLOW WITH A CIRCUMFERENCE THAT ONE COULD WALK IN A FEW MINUTES.” 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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UNDERCURRENT

DIY DEATH MARCH WHEN DIY GOES WRONG, IT GOES VERY WRONG, AS CONRAD BOTES DISCOVERED WHEN AUSTRALIA TRIED TO KILL HIM. SEVERAL TIMES.

“Overkill,” she said.

I looked at my wife, Jeanne, who was reading Bill Bryson’s “Down Under”.

“There’s no place on earth that the term overkill is more appropriate than Australia.

Here you’ll find a tiny spider with enough venom in its bite to kill a horse. Or a small box jellyfish that feeds on small fish and other organisms that will kill you very quickly should you get stung by one.”

She looked up and said, “So you’d better look after yourself in Weipa. I’ve got a bad feeling about you fishing on your own”.

It was 2010, we’d been in Australia for work, and after a break in the Whitsundays, we were about to fly out of Cairns airport, she on to Melbourne to visit a friend, me to Weipa to go fishing. The plan was to regroup in Sydney in less than a week, and then head home.

My flight from Cairns to Weipa on Cape York may have taken only an hour, but in real terms, on the ground, Weipa is to hell and gone. It takes a week to get there overland and only if you have the right vehicle. I collected my bags at the carousel and tried to hitch a ride in what turns out to be a town full of miners. From a bauxide mining site, ore gets shipped from Weipa to Asia daily. I waited until all the fancy bakkies full of miners had left and scored a lift to the campsite with Joe, a friendly old timer resembling a piece of biltong. He was also the campsite caretaker so he gave me the tour and dropped me at the campsite.

My plan was simple; to fish the rest of the day around the campsite because, for the following three days, I had rented a bright yellow, centre console, plastic polycraft boat from the camp site. With this mighty vessel I’d be able to fish the intricate network of rivers draining out into the Gulf of Carpentaria along with the miles and miles of pristine beaches that this spot is famous for. Permit, blue bastards, tuskies and myriad offshore species awaited me. But it was day one

and that meant heading out on foot.

According to the various forums and articles I’d read, I knew there was a vast flat in front of the campsite. Itching to get a fly in the water, as soon as I’d unpacked my bags, I rigged up, put on my wading boots and made a B-line across the lush green campsite lawn. The view to the sea was blocked by a thick line of shade trees. Eventually I stepped out on the beach and look around. There was no water to be seen; just a beach and some sort of flat in front of me which seemed to disappear into the haze of the horizon where, technically, I knew I should find the sea. I tried to calculate the distance and decided it was not as far as it looked.

It was hot. I started making my way towards the end of the flat where I was hoping to cast a line. The surface underneath me was sandy with dark muddy patches. As I marched, I remembered reading that the tide in the Gulf of Carpentaria is huge, with only one low and high tide per day.

I figured it must be low tide, so maybe when the tide came in, the flat would be covered in water and fish. I kept walking.

By then the floor underneath me had changed to a muddy, spongy substrate.

The heat was intense and I realised that I’d forgotten to bring water.

After what seemed like a very long time I stopped and stared at the horizon. The end of the flat didn’t look any closer.

I turned around and looked at the campsite way back in the distance. The big shade trees looked like a low green row of broccoli. I kept marching, my feet now dragging laboriously through thick, sloppy mud. My mood darkened. So much for tropical flats fishing, what I was doing sucked. I look down at my mudcovered legs and decided, “Screw this, I’ll go back and get hydrated. A six-pack of beers should do it.”

I took another ten paces and all of a sudden the earth underneath me bottomed out. I’d sunk into a pit of quickmud or something. Just before I went completely under, I stretched out my Illustration Brandt & Conrad Botes.

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arms which seemed to halt the sinking.

I look around me. I was up to my neck in a shithole of mud, arms outstretched and with my fly-rod lying on the surface mud that had now developed a thin layer of water on it. Talk about that ‘sinking feeling’, this was it. I wheeled around and made a pathetic squeal for help, but looking at the distance to the campsite I almost began to cry and laugh at the same time. The chance of someone hearing me was as poor as someone walking the shoreline and spotting my tiny pip sticking out of the mud a kilometer away.

My efforts to crawl out of the hole were futile. I thought about the tide coming in soon and realised, from having seen the high water mark next to the campsite trees, that I was truly and utterly fucked.

Blind panic washed over me. If I wanted to live I needed to get my shit together and save my sorry ass some way or other.

As my kicking in the hole pushed more water on to the mud around me, the action of swimming occurred to me. I gripped my rod between my teeth and tried the breaststroke. At first, moving my feet was really hard but soon it seemed to work. I was swimming. Forward. Out of the shithole. Slowly I inched forward with mud splattered in my face and sweat running into my eyes. Eventually I started crawling, utterly out of breath, but elated because I wasn’t going to die anymore.

Not today Australia.

I crawled and I crawled. Finally, I tested the mud and decided that walking was worth the risk. I couldn’t crawl the whole distance back to shore anyway.

At this point I spotted what seemed to be a slipway to my left and, since it was closer than the campsite, I set my course that way. What felt like hours later, I reached it, solid land. Luckily there was no one around to witness my shameful appearance. Caked in mud from head to toe, staggering down the beach in the midday sun in 30-something degree heat, I must have resembled a retarded Golem carrying a fly rod. I was parched

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UNDERCURRENT and saw a big hose and tap at the boat ramp, there for the obvious purpose of rinsing mud off boats. I opened the tap and started drinking. Saltwater.

The beers I guzzled down at the campsite seemed to lift my spirits a bit and I got my stuff packed and ready for the following day’s fishing. Spirits restored through booze, chow and sleep, I made my way to the slipway before dawn the next morning to launch the boat. From what I had gathered via the internet, heading to the beaches south of Weipa seemed like my best bet. The slipway was bustling with guides and visiting anglers putting their boats in the water and getting their gear sorted. For a bit I fished a row of marker pylons marking the shipping channel and then followed the flotilla of guides’ boats south. My idea was to keep my distance but fish the beaches that they fished.

By mid-morning, with the tide still high and outgoing, I reached a small bay with a beautiful beach, several kilometers down the shore. It was flanked by shallow reefs on both sides, and a guide was poling the shoreline with a spin fisherman flicking small lures towards the shore. ‘Perfect,’ I thought, ’If locals fish here, there must be fish.’ I waited until they left and anchored my vessel hastily in the shallows. The beach was shallow and I waded the sand flat in front of it, sight casting to a number of species.

After catching my first blue salmon, and a handful of bream, I decided that the water was becoming too skinny and that it was time to move on. I walked back to my boat, picked up the anchor and started to push the boat back.

The boat would not budge. Although it was still in shallow water, because of the weight of the solid plastic craft, it was wedged into the sand like a block of concrete. To an onlooker it would have been glaringly obvious that my efforts were futile, but I kept pushing like a berserker until I was drenched in sweat.

Eventually I stopped and tried to assess the situation. The tide was still outgoing and the water around the boat almost gone. It was about 11am. I wasn’t sure when low tide was but, judging from the previous day, about midafternoon.

That meant that the push was only early evening. Unless I got someone to help me, I’d be spending the night on the beach in an area infested with monster

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sized, human-devouring saltwater crocodiles. What seemed worse though was that I had to be back in camp with the rental boat before sunset. Failure to do so would set off a massive search and rescue operation from Cairns. Choppers.

Coast guard. The full Monty. Eternal shame and embarrassment.

I’m fucked. Again.

For the next couple of hours I lay under a tree close to the now high and dry, bright yellow boat. A nauseating anxiousness was burning me up. I tried to fish for a bit but I simply couldn’t. I got the safety bottle out of the boat and packed out the flares. My only chance was to get help as the anglers south of me headed back to Weipa later that day. I paced the beach. I tried to take a nap. I evaluated my food and water situation. Better not to use it all today, I might be here for a day or more.

Eventually I spotted a boat approaching from the south. It was gunning home and not passing close by. When it was closest to me I fired the flare. I watched in horror as the boat kept going and eventually disappeared out of sight north. I spent the next couple of hours trying to figure out why my flare went unnoticed; maybe they were preoccupied in conversation, maybe it was too bright outside. Maybe they were dickheads. Anyway, I had two more flares, so I got ready for the next shot.

By 5 pm I’d fired all my flares at passing ski boats and no one stopped. Baffled and dejected I flopped face down in the sand and considered my lot. “Here lies Conrad Botes. He should never have left home.” I had to get the boat back in the water before dark if I wanted to make it back that night. I paced up and down

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the beach trying to figure something out.

At the far end of the beach I found a perfectly straight wooden pole about 3meters in length. Although the boat was still several meters from the waters edge, the tide was coming in and it occurred to me that it could be possible to edge the boat forward and get to water sooner. And so it went. I pushed the pole lengthwise under the rear facing part of the boat and lifted it up. The pole would catch on the hull ridge and if I pushed up very hard, it would inch the vessel forward. About two centimeters at a time. I set to work like a madman. It was like a gym class from hell. Push pole in, get underneath, straighten legs and then strain to lift my arms. This would lift the boat up and it would slide forward.

The sun was going down, the tide was coming in and I was giving it everything I had. As the sun finally dipped below the horizon I was well into the water, but the boat was still not afloat. I kept going; tears of desperation streaming down my face. And then it came, that sweet moment when the boat lifted and moved forward with a small wave. It was about half past seven when I jumped in and started the engine. In retrospect I thought it quite smart of me to study the stars as they started appearing at sunset, because once the sun was down it was pitch black night and I had about 90 minutes to travel up a treacherous coast filled with shallow reefs and rocks.

With no GPS and only the stars to guide me I headed straight out to sea and then ran north at what I hoped would be a safe distance from the shore. After what seemed like an eternity, like arriving in heaven after dying, I saw the bright lights of the channel markers showing me the way into Weipa and the slipway.

As I staggered exhausted out of the boat, I caught the camp manager who was about to unlock the office and alert the search and rescue teams that the South African had never made it back.

Apparently they’d been down to the slipway three times to look for me.

My reunion with my wife in Sydney three days later was quite intense. I did not want to let go of her. Later, when we had sex, it was probably more passionate than when we had met each other ten years earlier and, when I rolled back on the sheets with her head resting on my chest, it was the most alive I can ever remember feeling.

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

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GUIDES

HIGH 5S F R O M C H A S I N G G O L I AT H T I G E R S I N T H E C O N G O T O T E A S I N G D O R A D O AT P I R A L O D G E I N A R G E N T I N A’ S I B E R Á M A R S H L A N D S , GLOBE-TROTTING GUIDE FRANCOIS BOTHA APPEARS TO LIKE HIS FISH TOOTHY AND MEAN. Photos Francois Botha.

5 best things about where you guide?

1) Pira Lodge (Iberá Marsh, Argentina) - an ever changing system where each day you can find something undiscovered.

2) Sekoma Island Lodge (Upper Zambezi River Zambia) - best value for money tigerfishing lodge in Africa, with perfectly maintained boats and great guides.

3) Chongwe River Lodge (Lower Zambezi National Park, Zambia) most spectacular wildlife encounters while fly-fishing.

4) Gkhui Gkhui River Lodge best smallmouth and largemouth yellowfish venue in South Africa.

5) Central Africa, Congo Basin - probably the last of the great adventures out there, looking for goliath tigerfish.

5 fishing items you don’t leave home without before making a mission?

1) Cameras 2) Headlamp 3) Leatherman 4) Travel hammock 5) Batteries 5 bands to listen to while on a road trip?

1) Jimi Hendrix 2) Royal Blood 3) Kelly Joe Phelps 4) Muse 5) Rural Alberta Advantage

5 things you are loving right now 1) @flybefok fly tying on Instagram.

2) Yeti coffee flask 3) Mustad Hooks 4) Capybaras 5) Tohatsu outboard motors - never heard of them before, never use anything else again 5 indispensable flies for saltwater?

1) Chicone’s Tuscan Bunny 2) NYAP 3) Clouser minnow (chartreuse) 4) Fishient 3D baitfish 5) Pat Sacco’s Über Clouser 5 indispensable flies for freshwater?

1) Copper John 2) Steve’s Caddis Pupae 3) #6 Foam hopper 4) MSP 5) Bromtor, an Orange River pattern I designed 5 favourite fly fishing destinations across SA? 1) Gkhui Gkhui River Lodge, Orange River 2) Fugitive’s Drift Lodge, Buffalo River 3) Emmerentia Dam during a flying ant hatch 4) Cape Vidal 5) Cannot be disclosed 5 favourite fly fishing destinations globally?

1) Cosmoledo Atoll 2) Bassas da India

3) Agua Boa Amazon Lodge 4) Kiwayu, Kenya 5) Pirá Lodge, Argentina 5 of the most difficult guiding experiences so far?

1) Republic of Congo - Tarpon - when a local at the hotel told my Canadian client that he wanted to eat him.

2) The Zambezi River when the wind blows.

3) Five first time fly fishermen on an overgrown Crocodile river going for smallmouth yellowfish.

4) Cosmo in the old days when I was guiding 6x rods at a time.

5) This British couple on St Joseph Atoll that were there for GT fishing.

Miraculously, for the first time ever, I found them GTs on the flats... they missed all of them and said I didn’t give them enough shots.

5 flies to pack (in the smuggler kit under your driver’s seat) to cover most species?

1) Copper John 2) Foam hopper 3) Brushfly that can be trimmed 4) Woolly Bugger 5) Steve’s caddis pupae 5 people you would like to guide or fish with?

1) Lefty Kreh 2) Andy Coetzee 3) Tom Sutcliffe 4) Lee Wulf 5) My dad

“PARTNER WITH YOUR GUIDE - IF YOU MAKE THE GUIDE DO ALL THE THINGS LIKE UNHOOKING WEEDS FOR YOU OR STRAIGHTENING FLIES, YOU LOSE VALUABLE FISHING TIME” 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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Francois Botha (back - wearing the cap and shades) with a Surubim or Shovelnose catfish (front - wearing the stripes, spots and whiskers).

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5 fish on your species hit list?

1) Goliath tigerfish - Congo Basin 2) Payara – Columbia 3) Steelhead – Canada 4) Sea trout - at Kau Tapen, Argentina (Nervous Waters) 5) Brown trout - South Island, New Zealand with Nick Raegert.

5 shower thoughts that have occurred to you while fly fishing?

1) I’m pretty sure that was a crocodile.

2) What kind of glue will keep the eyes on my brushies?

3) Will we find another planet with different fish?

4) Why people stock overfed hatchery trout.

5) Otter problems?

5 common mistakes that most clients make?

1) Know what you are in for - do a bit of research and arrive excited.

2) Come prepared - Bring the right gear.

3) Partner with your guide - if you make the guide do all the things like unhooking weeds for you or

straightening flies, you lose valuable fishing time.

4) Learn how to cast - find out how well you have to be able to do it and get it right. Your biggest responsibility in your partnership with a guide is the ability to cast, almost everything else is his job. The better you can do what is required, the more value you can get out of your trip.

5) Great expectations of fly-fishing when they haven’t learnt the above mentioned.

5 of the most underrated species in your book?

1) Bluefin trevally 2) Wolf pike / tararira 3) Yellowtail 4) Spotted peacock bass / Tucunaré paca 5) Leervis 5 destinations on your bucket list?

1) New Zealand, South Island 2) Kamchatka 3) Arabian Sea 4) Peros Bahnos - Chagos Archipelago 5) Colorado

5 essential ingredients for an incredible mission?

1) Google earth 2) Machete 3) Paddleboard 4) Friends that fish hard 5) Beer 5 flies that (to look at) make no sense but that catch fish all the time?

1) D.D.D 2) Floating prawn for grunter 3) Mouse patterns 4) Traditional Scottish salmon flies 5) Yarn strike indicator on a hook 5 things about fly fishing that you may never understand?

1) How I don’t die of a cold adrenaline overdose when I see a permit?

2) Where do tigerfish go when the wind blows?

3) Why do they still build skiffs with flat casting decks that can’t hold line and then try to fix it by putting a camping dustbin on the deck... that also blows off in the wind?

4) Ice fishing on fly.

5) Why people still use Dacron backing.

Your last five casts were to….The girl in the picture... (Follow Francois Botha on Instagram - @franb0)

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FOREST TROUT

THE THIN BLUE LINE CHASING RUMOURS, MYTHS AND LEGENDS AND TRACING THIN BLUE LINES, JAZZ KUSCHKE AND F I S H I N G B U D D Y L E R O Y B O T H A D E C O D E A T I G H T LY KEPT SECRET Photos Jazz Kushke.

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s big as that bottle,” the guy behind the tavern counter confirmed. Wrapped in his Basotho blanket against the unseasonal chill he was confident, but unanimated in the way of the people of Lesotho. “That big in there,” he said, pointing to the river down in the valley. I had shown him a picture on my phone of a trout and he was pretty sure they were present in the river. I took another Maluti Lager quart (the size of the fish he was referring to) from the fridge and one of those 1,25l glass bottles of Coke you see too often.

The amount of agriculture and the size of the village on the banks, coupled with then likely runoff from the recent, very late-season snow had me doubtful. I eyed him with almost the same ‘are-you-for-real’ expression as he looked at me, this guy asking about fish and buying beers at 9am..

I was in Lesotho covering The Roof of Africa rally and had, after my intel-gathering, beer stop just short of three hours of possible blue-lining before I had to be back at the start/ finish area to see if SA enduro darling Wade Young would keep his overnight lead.

In the scheme of the Mountain Kingdom this allowed hardly any scope, but I had to roll the dice. In the context of blue lining, you’ll never know – actually know – unless you go. I headed up the narrow dirt pass from out of the village and then, as I rounded the last switch-back the WhatsApp came through…

Blue lining is geography meets ichthyology, with a bit of history and a whole lot of wild goose-chasing thrown in. It’s treasure-hunting, really, and even if (when) you strike out, it’s always a cool adventure. It’s a combination of gathering all the myths, rumours, legends and lies; fussing over atlases and Airwolf choppering through likely valleys on Google Earth. Then, getting in the car and driving (often hours) to the closest weir or trail head and missioning out on foot.

Fly-fishers are fringe-dwellers at best and the blue-liners are even more sub-cultish. LeRoy Botha is as intrepid as they come.

I first met him on a grunter flat. Even though we live less than a 100-kilometres apart in the Garden Route – an area surprisingly sparsely populated with feather-chuckers – we hadn’t connected until the day he showed up on a semisecret mud island in my home river. ‘Dufaq did you get here?’ I thought…

As a musician, his night-time gigging allows him an enviable number of daylight hours (in between dad duties) to chase fish and craft fanatically-fine flies. We hit it off immediately, but that could also be because we both speak a funky

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vernac mix of English and Afrikaans, complete with flat accents and near all sentences accentuated by ‘bru.’

“We’re going to find them by bluelining, bru,” he mused that day. “…not by brown-nosing.” Tideawaiting on the grunter bank, we’d shared stories all the way from the Cederberg to the Mooi River and back. Complete with diversions to Zambia and Indonesia.

It turned out that forest trout – whispered tales of brownies in unlikely streams deep in the coastal forest belt between Mossel Bay and Humansdorp – haunted us both.

Remote, pristine and inaccessible - those valleys that have kept the remaining forest elephants hidden all these years held the tease of wild, once-upon-a-long-agoThursday stocked brown trout too.

If something that weighs three tons can remain cloaked in there, it made sense that a 13-inch camouflaged fish could too. At least the trout have a circumscribed habitat and can’t just up and migrate across the mountains. Or can they?

In a weird coincidence of collective consciousness both LeRoy and I had been concurrently pursuing these stream shadows for some time. Both of us have friends who know where they are, but you just don’t go ass licking to get gifted spots, you trace your finger up the map and you put in the road- and foot-hours.

By much book work and research, a simple process of elimination and some serious stream time, we had both reached roughly the same spot on the map, at the same time.

Immediately there was something of an unspoken agreement to join forces. I’d love to know how pirates ‘knew’ who they could trust with their treasure maps, but I reckon this felt pretty close.

the local telecom is up in Lesotho, I hadn’t been on that switchback crest long enough for the photo he’d sent to come through. Besides, I figured he’d probably had one or two lagers after a gig the previous night and had sat down to cook up yet another highly realistic pattern for cruising sand grunts.

Back in Lesotho, the WhatsApp from LeRoy read, “Eureka”. I saw it on the home screen preview and as good as

Then, as I was rigging up next to a beautiful mountain stream, some 75km East by South of Maseru, another WhatsApp came through.

A photo this time, so I had to open it. There, staring back at me in all the technicolour pixels of our digital age, was the fuzzy, way-out-of-focus mug of a buttery forest brownie. A wild descendent of an ancient strain.

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“I was shaking so much I couldn’t take the picture,” came the next message.

LeRoy had struck gold, much like The Forest prospectors of old. Hence the ‘eureka’.

It was a last tip-off from his friend that sent him in the right direction.

It turned out we’d been boulderhopping and bundu-bashing too far west. No doubt our process of elimination would’ve eventually lead us to that particular stream, but in the end it was a tiny bit of brownnosing that made all the blue lining a success.

The exception that qualifies the rule.

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Stuck in a secluded forest stream for over a century, this brown trout definitely plays kissing cousins.

The Forest (always to be spelled with a capital ’T’ as in Daleen Matthee of Fiela Se Kind fame) was dense, bathed in dappled summer dawn light and full of things with names like Mountain Waxberrys, White Stinkwood, Kamassi and the beautifully flowering Cape Chestnuts. Somewhere a Knysna Turaco hollered its raucous kok-kok kok-kok. The spirits of a thousand elephants ghosted from the shadows, and the chance of bumping into one of the survivors seemed highly probable. At least some signs. Perhaps a ball of dung among the piles of bushpig shit littering the game trail.

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“WE SCRAMBLED AND CRAWLED OUR WAY FURTHER UP, SPOTTING CRABS, FROGS AND GIANT BLUE-TINGED WOLF SPIDERS AS WE WENT.”

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Perhaps it’s the lack of recent rain? The water was slightly more tannin-stained than on previous outings.

We scrambled and crawled our way further up, spotting crabs, frogs and giant blue-tinged wolf spiders as we went.

In the next run we saw an eel and tried to entice it with a nymph, no dice. Then, up at the head of the pool, betrayed by a single flicker of fin, the ultra-camouflaged shapes of two 13-inch plus brownies. Despite our best efforts they spooked on the second presentation. This turned out to be the tune of the following three hours.

We were back once again. Another foray to the spring-fed creek in which spotted gold lives. Every time we’d pushed higher up, ever fueled by the drive to see what is around the next corner. The motivation that brought us there in the first place.

The first two known lies showed no fish and even dragonfly nymphs carefully drifted under the overhangs produced no interest. The water was cool, despite the 40-degree heat in the valley. Could the heat have turned them off?

When LeRoy once again pulled his RAB from out of the tree I knew that the proverbial fat lady was singing in The Forest.

We’d learned some lessons on this trip; a full character building mission that nearly ended in dehydration. Yet it taught us that they weren’t as ‘easy,’ those brownies, as we’d begun to think from previous missions. After all, they’d not survived 100-odd years by being stupid. For us though, it was just the tease we needed to come back again.

Or, perhaps, the push to go trace another blue line.

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ON THE MISSION

OUTER MONGOLIA & INNER PEACE S PA C E , T I M E A N D TA I M E N I N T H E M I D D L E O F N O W H E R E Story and Photos James Topham.

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T

he longest measure of distance is the Mongolian mile. Scientists will argue that it’s really a light year, but our neighboring galaxy, Andromeda, is two million light years away which only works out to be about 23 Mongolian miles. It was while chewing away at a few of these infinite miles that I learned to love Country Rock. The Steppes rolled by, only ever so often broken by a nomad settlement and their horses.

There was the patchy plain, a deep blue sky and Ray LaMontagne.

The smooth asphalt road lasted for most of the steppes, but after a few hours it just sort of stopped, and from then on it was a muddy two track. I looked at my watch and noted we’d been on the road for 8 hours which meant that this 4x4 track we were on was going to take another 6. My initial fright was quelled by the fact that at the end of this dirt road was a river and in the river were very very large taimen.

There is no need to feel shy about your lack of taimen knowledge. All I knew about Taimen was that they were big and ate big things with reckless abandon. I find that quality- for a lack of a better word- endearing in a fish.

I also saw pictures of a big beautiful freestone river, and the combination of the two was all I needed to throw myself in a car with complete strangers and travel across a country that was last on the newspaper headlines in 400AD when Genghis Khan was being aggressively ambitious. Even the world of science is still learning new things about these pre ice age fish, and to top it, everyone has their own way of pronouncing it- so your way will do fine. As long as you don’t say something like “apparently they don’t fight very hard” because if you’re going to know very little about a fish, a horrible inaccuracy is not a good start. There is a reason why people will travel across the largest continent on the planet for a fish, and trust me if it fought like a wet sack of canine excrement, taimen would

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Mike Pence (aka Jako Lucas) and Donald Trump (James Topham) on bro-liday in Mongolia.

have faded into obscurity with the fall of the Soviet Union.

At least this is what I was telling myself. The road was starting to get muddy and we had begun sliding into a valley and if the Jeep were to break down I knew that Big Matt sitting next to me would eventually get hungry and eat me and none of it would make much sense if I was going to guide for a fish that was as useful as a parking attendant at a drive-through.

While these thoughts whirred through my mind the scenery around us became more astonishing. No one had said a word for some time until the driver, Byra- a taimen guru and

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conservationist- said he needed a break and some fresh air. We ground to a halt on top of a grassy hill overlooking a beautiful valley. It was quiet and desolate and so we all found a prominent rock or grassy tussock and peed against it. Sometime during this particular pit stop, just as the blood was returning to my toes we heard a noise far in the distance. We could see the road wind steadily all the way down the valley, and soon made out a heavily laden motorcycle. It sounded like a large capacity engine, but it was making a slow advance on the steep valley road. Eventually it drew closer, and we could see its occupants. An old couple, traditionally dressed, perched atop of the groaning dirt bike. They looked like a National Geographic

With an expansive attitude to matters of conquest, Taimen are the Genghis Khan of trout. Piermateo Nissotti releases a river raider.

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cover portrait; weary, wrinkled nomads. They held our gazes with a blank stare, the husband only looking away to avoid running the bike off the road. It was a perfect scene, and I loved how they weren’t on a horse, and how everything fit so perfectly and how strange we must have looked to them, but mostly I loved her smile just as they passed us.

Eventually we wound our way into camp. Log cabins for the kitchen and dining room as well as the ablutions and guide accommodation, while

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Gurs had been set up for the guests. More importantly a wide, moderately shallow and clear river sprawled in front of us. We got out the Jeep, walked to the bank and stood in awe. The world behind us faded away and everything of any meaning was in front of me, sweeping past much faster than its laminar flow would let on.

I was thrilled, and excited and happy and all the other emotions that come with seeing a new river, but really deep down there was a stone in my stomach. It was a big

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long river. How was I going to find a fish I knew very little about in all this water? More importantly, how was I going to guide someone else onto a mysterious fish in a mysterious river?

The pre season set up sped by, made all the more valuable by another Matt, Matt Ramsey, then Head guide of the operation, bestowing his seventeen years of Eg-Ur river experience and knowledge to me, the greenhorn. On the very last day of camp set up, we’d finished our work so headed up river. It was

Ashley Edens with a fin-perfect pike

a long run to the top most beats.

There were so many sloughs, secret channels, holes and anchor drops.

There were places where Matt would say “If you miss this line, you’ll blank”. I’d look around and see an indistinguishable bank, and a run that looked like all the other runs. Pool names and wade fishes were thrown at me as we sped up the river. I tried to absorb it, but it was all too big, too much, and when we got back for dinner, I felt none the wiser. The guests were to arrive the next morning. I didn’t sleep well.

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Jane Eddins with the long, lanky awkward teenage Taimen, spots included.

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A light year later- or rather a Mongolian week- I was on a big Russian helicopter flying back to Ulanbataar. The tribal burial mounds and yellow birch forests shook underneath me as I thought about my weeks guiding for taimen on the Eg-Ur. I had skunked for two days and been the laughing stock at the dinner table. I got to see a taimen and shook so much I couldn’t get a good photograph. I made good calls, and some really bad ones. I found some big fish, and even put clients onto some of them. I named a big fish Fred and everyone wanted to catch

him, but I think he was actually a big pike. I went on a partridge hunt in marijuana filled ravines in the hills. I drove a jetboat down a shallow run and didn’t gut it. People started asking my opinion at the dinner table, and even though I had no clue what I was talking about the guides nodded at my feeble responses.

Matt found a map of my beat on the second last night and I realized I didn’t need it. I heard wolves when the camp generator was switched off. I saw golden eagles and a flock of wild swans and watched wild horses crossing the river while in the middle of a very successful anchor drop. I even saw a monster taimen

eat a young merganser. I got better at that game where you swing a loop in a string over a cup hook. Basically I didn’t suck at guiding, well at least for the last four days.

Soon we were flying over the Steppes and it was when the flight engineer said we were half an hour away from Ulanbataar that I realized I loved Mongolia and I loved taimen and I wished I was in the jeep with Big Matt Carter, Matt Ramsey and Byra.

I wished we were going slowly and that the Mongolian miles were longer than light years and that we were going further away from Ulan Bataar instead of closer.

“I HEARD WOLVES WHEN THE CAMP GENERATOR WAS SWITCHED OFF. I SAW GOLDEN EAGLES AND A FLOCK OF WILD SWANS AND WATCHED WILD HORSES CROSSING THE RIVER. I EVEN SAW A MONSTER TAIMEN EAT A YOUNG MERGANSER.” 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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PROFILE

BETTER OFF ED F LY F I S H E R M A N , H U N T E R , S A I L O R , C H E F – I N A D E VA S TAT I N G A C C I D E N T E D U A R D O G A R C I A P O K E D T H E BEAR AND HIS LIFE CHANGED FOREVER. ACCORDING TO O L D F R I E N D , C H R I S B E L L I N G H A M , E D N O T O N LY L I V E D T O T E L L T H E TA L E , B U T H A S B O U N C E D B A C K S T R O N G E R THAN EVER. Photos Becca Skinner, Nathan Norby, Jenny Jane.

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d Garcia’s in ICU, crazy bad shape, poked a bear in a freak hunting accident in Montana!”

It was the very early hours of the morning, the text message had woken me up and my brain was still well and truly intoxicated in dream juice. I typed a blurry response, received no answer and lay in the dark, generating twisted permutations of how this could happen – in my semi-altered state, a vision of a Tarantino-like take on Goldilocks swirled in my mind.

It had been several years since I’d last seen Eduardo, and definitely in better circumstances. We were in Nassau after several incredible months of sailing across and up the Atlantic, catching man-sized fish, surfing empty lineups and hitting wild parties with royalty throughout the Caribbean island chain. A South African on a gap year, I had been the 1st mate on a luxury yacht and Ed, from Montana, was our chef.

He oozed charisma, already had a helluva life story and his Latino good looks combined with his ability to whip up feast or fiesta made him both a man’s man and real lady slayer! The idea of my friend lying in pain in some hospital, wasn’t good and slammed home the mortality all of us face on this jaunt around the sun.

In the days that followed, the details of his freak accident and further drama emerged. Ed had been bowhunting alone in his home mountain range on the upper Yellowstone River in Montana. In the middle of nowhere, he came across a bear slumped half-in half-out of what appeared to be a drum. Was it dead, sleeping off a honey pot? He pulled out his knife and gave it a prod, as you would a T-bone you’re not quite sure is done. His world went black.

When he came round, the smell of massively burnt flesh, the sight of his mangled hand and the pain of multiple other injuries had him battling not to pass out. Somehow

he found the strength to crawl back to civilization and to help. It turns out that the curious bear had opened up a poorly protected high-voltage electrical breaker box, electrocuted itself and passed on the favour to Ed when he decided not to let sleeping bears lie.

The 2400 volts of electricity blew out his body in nine different places, the worst being his left arm, chest and head. When he arrived at the hospital they described him as a dead man with a heartbeat.

On October 9th 2011, after 48 days in ICU and immediately after his first set of operations, Ed was under the false impression that he would be back in the mountains within a few weeks. Well, when those few weeks passed, with Ed looking like a Montanan mummy minus four ribs and with an amputated hand, his Doc dropped the mic when he revealed that while patching Ed up, they had discovered that he also had testicular cancer.

“THE 2400 VOLTS OF ELECTRICITY BLEW OUT HIS BODY IN NINE DIFFERENT PLACES, THE WORST BEING HIS LEFT ARM, CHEST AND HEAD. WHEN HE ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL THEY DESCRIBED HIM AS A DEAD MAN WITH A HEART BEAT.” 54

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Becca Skinner

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What would fly-fishing be like now?

He had done his research and reached out to mates for ideas. He heard about self-retrieving reels and saw many clips of amputee fishers but never any of fly-fishers. On a crisp spring morning, Ed decided to head out alone to give fly-fishing a crack again. He wanted to figure it out for himself and so sat river-side with his trusty old rig and began to tie on a new tippet.

“One hour later the tippet was on and a while after that so was my fly, a size 14 Blue Winged Olive emerger!

I waded out mid-current, stripped off some line and flopped out a cast, the next was better and so was the one after that. I wasn’t initially concerned about catching fish, I was just working it out again and pretty soon my casts and mends weren’t too bad. Okay, this works, let’s catch a fish. Upstream, off an undercut bank, was a low overhanging log.

I felt relatively confident, it looked fishy and so I went into sniper mode. Of course I overshot. Fuck!

Snagged. Bleak. Repeat.”

It took a little while but Ed eventually got the hang of it and pretty soon was regularly wading those wide rivers in Big Sky Country. Initially, struggling to find the dexterity and speed required to work a streamer rig like he used to, he stuck to dries and European nymphing techniques.

However, a couple of years later while on a guided drift trip down the Jefferson River with some mates, he borrowed a streamer rig and soon,

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boom, he was on to a big brown and then another. He didn’t lose a fly all day. It was a standout moment of stoke for Ed as he realised that his fishing had come full circle.

Becca Skinner

“Are you shitting me!?”

“No, unfortunately not.”

Coming back from all of this was never going to be easy, but while physically he’s now a one-balled, one-armed wonder, metaphorically Ed’s a giant. So 21 operations, three months of chemo, two years of plastic surgery programmes and many more months of physio later, with the support of great mates and family, Ed was able to start heading back into the mountains and rivers.

In the process of rehabilitation he developed, tested and gathered a variety of high-tech electronicallydriven prosthetic limbs. He tells the story of how when his girlfriend, National Geographic adventurer Becca Skinner, first moved in with him, she opened his prosthesis drawer and was so startled by the variety of mechanical hands, hooks and claws that she jumped back against the wall in shock and as Ed puts it, “Like mother coming across the dildo draw”.

Nowadays, after an embarrassing electro-mechanical prosthesis failure on live TV, he prefers a simple, purely mechanical strap-on device that he operates almost subconsciously by manipulating his shoulder and arm. Recently, after a long day at work, Becca and he simultaneously unstrapped themselves, Ed his prosthesis and Becca her bra, looked at each other, stretched out their shoulders and together said “Damn it feels good to be free!” This light moment is perhaps symbolic of a lot more.

Four years after the accident Ed had come a long way and his close crew were giving him a lot of pokes in his now four-short ribs, telling him “Guy, you need to tell your story”. Initially he wasn’t keen at all.

However, a couple of years later, he was invited to a Paralympic sports clinic in Utah where he was blown away by the completely enabled drive and lack of concern that these young Para athlete kids had about their disabilities. They were lightyears ahead of him mentally and he realised he needed to process his situation far more than he had. He then drove from the sports centre to his burns recovery unit in Salt Lake City where the surgeon who tended to him on day one was overwhelmed

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to see him. Too many of his patients who experienced similar trauma died, so when he saw and heard all Ed had accomplished, the surgeon was moved to tears and told him he needed to come around more.

Ed knew then that he had to stop hiding up in his cabin, grow his ball back and share his story. He was lucky; they already had some great footage. When his ex-girlfriend Jen,

still reeling from their recent horrible breakup, heard about his accident she had flown back to Montana from her home in England and filmed the initial months of his recovery as a means of therapy. In addition, a mate with whom he had done a pilot for a cooking-in-the-wild TV show had also recognised the potential for a story early on and had done some filming too. Ed got hold of him and said, “Go for it, I’ll be available

“WHAT WOULD FLY-FISHING BE LIKE NOW? HE HAD DONE HIS RESEARCH AND REACHED OUT TO MATES FOR IDEAS. HE HEARD ABOUT SELF-RETRIEVING REELS AND SAW MANY CLIPS OF AMPUTEE FISHERS BUT NEVER ANY OF FLY-FISHERS.”

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Nathan Norby - Charged Film

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Nathan Norby - Charged Film

and I want it to help people but I want it to be real and I don’t want to be involved in the editing.”

Through Kickstarter they raised the funds and shot the documentary, ‘Charged’. It’s shot with revealing perspective rarely seen and with raw moments that made me cry like a baby. It was the opening film of the Santa Barbara International Film Festival and has won plenty of awards including the audience award at both the Maui International

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and San Francisco Documentary Film Festivals. Ed’s super proud of both the movie and the crew and rightly so. It’s taken them all over the place, developed all of their lives and, through it, he’s met, inspired and been inspired by others young and old. Most importantly it’s helped him process his situation.

You should watch it too.

Since he poked the bear Ed hasn’t slowed down, he’s only got faster.

Inspired by one-armed surfer,

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Bethany Hamilton, he’s managed to learn how to surf again and done the same for his bow-hunting. He’s a celebrated chef on news networks, a Hollywood actor, competes in triathlons, teaches young amputees to surf, and as spokesman for the Challenged Athletes Foundation shares his story to packed halls of young, often depressed teens bewildered by the hormonally exaggerated great unknown that lies before them. When we last spoke Ed was about fly to New York to

Jenny Jane - @jennyofthejane Nathan Norby - Charged Film

“IT’S CLEAR THE ACCIDENT HAS CATALYSED THE EXPANSION OF HIS MIND, ENABLED A GREATER APPRECIATION OF LIFE AND THE WORLD AROUND HIM, ITS TRIUMPHS, ITS TRAGEDIES AND THE ROLE HE HAS TO PLAY.”

seek investors for his Montana Mex brand of organic salsas and spices.

Upon return he saw the launch of his TV series. It’s clear the accident has catalysed the expansion of his mind, enabled a greater appreciation of life and the world around him, its triumphs, its tragedies and the role he has to play.

do with Ed, the stars seem to be aligning and a trip to Patagonia is taking shape. Yip, Ed’s just a man who became disabled and harnessed that experience to become almost superhuman. He’s the galley gimp I knew on the seas, but he’s also a lot more.

Eduardo Garcia is a champion and I’m super proud to call him my mate.

When I called Ed about this story he said he had one condition, that we meet up somewhere to do some fly fishing again. Well, as things often

Charged is available on iTunes, Amazon and Vimeo. Find out more about Eduardo and the film at www.chargedfilm.com

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GABON

VENI, VIDI (AND A BIT OF)

VICI

W H E N T U D O R C A R A D O C - D AV I E S A L L O W E D H I M S E L F T O D R E A M O F C O N Q U E R I N G TA R P O N FROM LAND IN GABON AND RETURNING HOME IN TRIUMPH, THE JUNGLE BROUGHT HIM DOWN TO SIZE. Photos Conrad Botes, Arno Matthee

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spent a lot of time thinking about Ancient Rome while in Gabon.

Specifically, about triumph. The original meaning. Back then, after every significant military victory, there’d be a “triumph,” a ceremonial procession to honour the victorious generals. As they were driven through the streets on horse-drawn chariots, Roman noses held aloft on ever-swelling heads, they were accompanied by slaves. The slaves had two jobs. One was to hold a golden crown over a general’s head to remind everyone that the general was a player, the other was to keep whispering in his ear, “Remember, you are mortal.” A blunt but effective verbal mechanism to keep egos in check.

While in Gabon I learned that it can be tricky to keep your ego in check, because triumph, even for an average Joe fly fisherman like myself, and despite crap weather and some bad luck, seemed relatively easy. This was put into perspective when, after catching two snapper larger than anything I’d ever caught before, our host, legendary super guide Arno Matthee, said, “If you were IGFA affiliated that (the fish I’d just released) could be a world record on fly.”

He was not trying to blow smoke up my arse, it was just that unlike Cubera and Bohar snapper, that specific species of snapper, the Guinea snapper, probably hasn’t had that many run-ins with fly anglers. Caught off a boat in the swirling soup of a large river mouth on a sinking line and a large, orange DMA on a 10-weight Thomas & Thomas Exocett SS paired with one of those Tibor bonefish reels, there was plenty wrong with the picture, mainly because pre-trip I was disorganised. The rod was great and cast like a dream, but the

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reel was designed for bonefish on a floating line, not dredging for snapper. I seldom catch big fish so as my ego began to rampage, a personal triumph played out in my head - Fantasia elephants dancing to a suitable fanfaronade of West African Afro-beat, interviews on CNN where I smoke a pipe and speak in the third person, a golden statue in my likeness built on top of Port Gentil’s Cap Lopez lighthouse (designed by Gustave Eiffel of Eiffel Tower fame).

The thing is, while I will probably remember those Guinea snapper for as long as my marbles are still where they should be, I know deep down that, considering I was

“MY EGO BEGAN TO RAMPAGE - FANTASIA ELEPHANTS DANCING TO A SUITABLE FANFARONADE OF WEST AFRICAN AFROBEAT, INTERVIEWS ON CNN WHERE I SPEAK IN THE THIRD PERSON.” fishing blind with a sinking line, there was very little personal skill involved. The real, long-lasting memory of this trip will actually be more about glorious failure than it will be about glorious triumph.

For that, we have to rewind a few days.

The invitation from Arno was simple. He was taking a week off at the end of a long season with The Guides Company, putting clients into colossal West African tarpon. Off-time for a guide apparently involves fishing so, as we were such fantastic company,

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he asked if Conrad Botes and I would like to join him in checking out a lagoon a few hours from Port Gentil.

The plan was to camp on the beach and fish there for a few days, before returning to Port Gentil where we would fish from a boat for the rest of the trip.

A few months later, after a yellow fever shot, many beers onboard flight SA 90 from Johannesburg to Libreville, one night at the Hotel Tropicana, 34 mosquito bites and one short flight south, Conrad and I were jumping into a taxi Arno had waiting outside the arrivals gate of Port Gentil International Airport.

Of all the third world taxis I have ever been in in all the world (Dar es Salaam, Mumbai, Colombo etc), nothing comes close to how fucked up Port Gentil’s taxis are. I thought we had just got a dodgy one the first time, but later, when we spent several days in town, it appeared that that was the standard. The back left door never opens on any of them so you slide across sand, shredded leather and damp upholstery in the back seat. These taxis do not drive, they trundle optimistically, as you would roll a stone down a hill hoping to choose a line free of obstacles.

In the drought-stricken Western Cape of South Africa where we are from, we are used to really harsh, dry heat which vibrates off roads, walls and sand like the corrugations of a tin roof. It’s so starkly different to the intense humidity of the tropics. In Port Gentil, Gabon you get off the plane and are swaddled in the hot sauna towel of an equatorial city. The abbreviation of Port Gentil is POG, so at the centre of town is Hotel de Villepog and there’s a shop with the dubious name, Sodipog.

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Legendary guide Arno Matthee searches for rolling tarpon, or a place to take a dump. 50/50 call.

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As if sporting a dad-bod and an ill-fitting vest, like most tropical cities Port Gentil looks like a middle-aged tourist who’s given up any intention of maintaining appearances. Weighed down by the humidity, everything sighs and sinks further into its own colon of decay and decrepitude. While Gabon has immense oil resources, you would not know it by looking around at the buildings. Paint is expensive and it will all just peel off anyway like scorched skin sloughing off a ginger, so the prevailing attitude to upkeep seems to be “Why bother?” It’s not Port Gentil’s fault, Libreville’s much the same. It’s just that nature in Gabon clearly does not encourage human settlements.

Tropical storms swirl along the coastline, unleashing and reforming several times over the city, keeping it eternally damp.

Seven rivers empty out into the bay at Port Gentil and the entire backwater system of rivers, huge,

ancient mangroves, deep forest and estuaries acts as a massive tidal lung. Riding the breath of the tides, like dust filaments in a late afternoon sunbeam, are the tarpon, the principal reason we were there.

After sorting out supplies, we jump on a boat and head deep into the jungle for hours, winding our way out of the bay through the huge rivers, deeper into the backwaters where villages swallowed by the rising waters lie abandoned, half-submerged until the seasons change. Not only is the weather against you out here, but the tide will eventually overcome you and the jungle will one day reclaim what you have taken.

African grey parrots squeak and jump the rivers seeking new canopies, while ungainly palmnut vultures (aka Turkey buzzards) flap overhead. Just in and around these colossal estuarine systems, there is so much water to discover

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and Arno’s working at doing just that. We arrive at the mouth of a river and set up camp on a huge sandy expanse littered with flotsam and jetsam, both natural and pollution.

Conrad is an old Gabon hand when it comes to fly fishing, in so much as you can be in such an infinitesimal niche. He and Arno, who as a globe-trotting guide, spent decades in the Seychelles and elsewhere before turning to Gabon, Congo and Angola.

Both know what they are doing. I am the noob and when you’re a noob, you can’t help but ask more questions than a toddler.

“Purple and black toad thingie or giant mullet pattern?”

“Do you get seals around here?

What’s the black thing surfacing over there?”

“You say tarpon jizz smells? Like what?”

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“Giant” African Threadfin above and top right and snoozing and cruising in the jungle bottom right.

“Intermediate or floating?”

“Does this retrieve look right?”

“What’s the average size for a male tarpon?”

“If I see one am I meant to whoop and holler or nod sagely and invite it to be my spirit animal?”

Over the course of the next two days, I learn to navigate both fishing in the surf and on the river side of the spit. I marvel at how barracuda will eviscerate baitfish

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under my nose but ignore my fly.

I learn to spot the rolling tarpon and lose my mind at how close they are, yet how difficult it is with the currents and the rip, to get a fly in the zone. I catch a small “giant” African Threadfin, while Conrad gets a couple of West African grunter, distant cousins of his beloved Breede River quarry.

François, Arno’s ex-pat French friend who runs a fishing shop in Port Gentil, catches a decent jack and a small tarpon on a spinning rod. Amy, Arno’s friend from Seychelles days gets a nice

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Senegalese Jack. I’m having the time of my life, but according to those who’ve seen more than me, the fishing is not ON. We lose an entire afternoon to hectic wind and take shelter and solace in shade, whisky, braaied chicken and beans.

On the morning of our second last day on the beach, I wake just around 4am, my bowels chatting to me in a tent filled with sand and sweat. Francois’ special Flagiolet bean dish from the previous night’s dinner has won

the Normandy landing of my guts, so to avoid asphyxiating myself I head off into the darkness, making my way across the sandy expanse of the beach to what feels like a respectable distance from camp. Taking a shit in the middle of the day is a lot harder and either requires a devil may care attitude to public defecation (a gap year in China should do it) or a long walk across the sand to the first discernible ridge. After catching a grunter the previous day, Conrad tried to take a victory shit (a triumph turd!) behind a low tethered tumbleweed only to panic when a far-reaching wave picked up his carefully-placed stripping basket (complete with rod and reel) and nearly ripped it out over the dropoff where he had just spotted a very large Bull shark. Cue some frantic sprinting with boardshorts around his ankles to rescue his gear.

days of casting my 12-weight rig.

One of the fly reels I had taken along was a Penn International, a sort of anti-reverse golden collectors’ item that I bought off Gumtree years ago. Paired with a Thomas & Thomas Exocett 12-weight, the Penn was probably designed for billfish, but beggars can’t be choosers and rigged with an intermediate line, I’ve been waving it at tarpon off the beach which is why my gammy shoulder is starting to complain. While retrieving my black and purple

deerhair tarpon toad fly tied on a Gamakatsu SC-15 hook, I mention the reel’s weight to Conrad, bleating, “I just want to test this beast of a reel. You know, put the bloody thing through its paces,” when my retrieve stops dead.

Threadfin.

I’m a small fish guy. Wherever I am, amid giant fish or not, I will catch the tiddlers. It’s the worst super power ever invented, but it’s mine. That threadfin, while

This early in the morning, the only human activity I can see comes from the distant flares of the offshore oil rigs. As I relieve myself, accompanied by hundreds of ghost crabs running for cover and peeping from the ramparts of their safe havens, I feel utterly discombobulated on a sensory level. With no wind and an ambient temperature the same as my skin, up is down, outside is inside, land is sea. It feels like I am a manned submersible at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, my head torch the sole illumination in a fathomless cavern of inky blackness, the stars silent as krill, tiny punched holes in the silkworm shoebox lid of the world.

Back from the sensory deprivation chamber of the Upside Down, I return to camp and wake Conrad, as agreed, for the predawn session. We walk to the river side of the mouth in silence stretching out sore muscles. Deskbound wuss that I am, my arm is beginning to ache after a few

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The author and a hefty Guinea snapper, both looking surprised to meet each other on either end of a fly line.

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highly respectable in my book (Francois later called it small… putin), was probably the biggest fish I had ever caught until I met the snapper bros a few days later.

It fought with the heavy head shakes of a kob, but with much more stamina. Local calls it El Capitaine, I imagine because it fights like a boss.

Photos were taken, fives were highed and with our whoops disappearing into the pre-dawn glow of the surrounding jungle, I sorted out my line and began casting again, my hand still tingling from the threadfin’s sandpaper flanks. With a lull in the turbulence of the tide the estuarine lung took a breather. If ever conditions could be described as pregnant with possibility, it was now. The fishing was about to come on. The water that had been sluicing out of the river into the sea was relatively calm so we knew if you could bomb out a long cast to where the tarpon had been rolling the last few days, then the fly would stay in the zone for a few seconds longer. Drunk on my El Capitaine, I now had the big fish confidence of a triumphant Roman general, believing that every cast was going to result in a shot at another fish. I might have even considered immortality.

Two casts later I connected with what felt like a continental drift of Gondwanaland proportions; the last remnants of South America’s split from Africa. Except, it was happening at high speed and I was tethered to it. There was a colossal splash as it dawned on a massive female tarpon that all was not well in her aquatic world. In no time the running line in my hand disappeared. Looking down at the rapidly diminishing dial of yellow backing shrinking off the reel, I had the kind of ‘countdown to bomb detonation’ fear I imagine only MacGyver and Jack Bauer are immune to. I did not have the deactivation codes!

Pure panic set in because the fish was already powering across the river mouth into the deeper currents and was showing no sign of slowing down. Panic was joined by rank inexperience and foolhardy fumbling as I cranked the drag too far, too fast and was rewarded with the greatest anticlimax of them all, a release from all tension.

In an ideal world. I would have known what I was doing. I would have been better prepared. I would have asked better questions like, “What the hell do you do if it’s a moose of a fish

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intent on reaching the horizon?” I would have summoned the weather gods through sacrifice and prayer to give us more time on that beach. I would have been fitter, stronger and whatever else it is that Olympians value.

I would have triumphed and no whispering in my ear could have contained my raging ego.

But it didn’t happen quite like that.

I am, after all, only mortal. That tarpon? Something else entirely.

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ASTOVE

BLOOD, SWEAT & BEERS G U I D E K Y L E R E E D , G I V E S U S A B E H I N D - T H E - S C E N E S L O O K AT T H E G R U N T W O R K T H AT G O E S I N T O P R E P P I N G F O R A S E A S O N O N T H E FA B L E D S E Y C H E L L E S AT O L L O F A S T O V E Photos Kyle Reed.

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Maintenance and hydration are both essential. It’s so hot here, almost everything plastic is melting and enthusiasm levels begin to dwindle as Devan van der Merwe, Dave Marshall and Stu Webb take a breather.

f there is one thing that annoys any Seychelles guide it’s when someone says, “It must be lekker* being on holiday for nine months.”

The perception that working in some of the most pristine fisheries left on the planet is glamorous, is sadly skewed.

It is by far one of the most rewarding jobs and most beautiful offices one can ask for, but this comes at a cost. Most of us spend months on end away from any normal form of civilization, time away from families, with little to no communication with

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the outside world and, for the most part, your best friend is your pack of smokes and a can of Peaceful Sleep.

Astove is one of those remote “out there” destinations. If you are into saltwater fly fishing, you would have read about the GT fishing and so on, but there’s a lot that goes on behindthe-scenes before you get to put your fly in front of the fish of a lifetime.

The chaos of the logistics behind an operation like this extends across the planet and includes a big barge, a couple of aircraft and a group of not so

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sane people hell bent on making this one of the best operations out there.

Before the first guests land a mega barge arrives on Astove delivering three months’ worth of food, supplies, diesel and spare parts for both Astove and Cosmoledo. Handling this logistical nightmare is Jess, who has the uncanny ability to remember exactly how many limes we ordered or how many bottles of Whispering Angel rosé a particular guest on week eight loves to drink. All these small things need to start somewhere.

Cold beer? No fear. Brandon Poole loads up with some frosty beverages for the new arrivals.

Devan van der Merwe ready and waiting to greet new guests.

Out here, we don’t have the luxury of running down to the local bottle store. Trying to find freezer space is often the biggest challenge; after the first few days of unpacking one becomes a natural at Tetris. We can often make do with odds and ends for the boats or gear, but when it comes to food and drinks there’s nothing more important. What’s a fishing trip without beer?

The boats are another story. Almost no fishing operation in the salt can function well without good boats.

Yousuf Shaik and Alex Quatre get stuck into the heavy lifting part of the Astove Crossfit Games.

Every season we dismantle and pack up when we leave. This means re-assembling, servicing, sanding, painting and fixing when we reopen. I’m sure this could be easy or quite fun with a beer or two in your uncle’s garage. But our issue is the blistering heat, no real tools and only our bare hands to do the heavy lifting. One learns to make do with a Leatherman, cable ties and duct tape.

This is by no means unique to Astove - most super remote fisheries have

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groups of guys doing exactly the same thing every day. This is the part of the job that is the least spoken about and is probably the most important. Being part of one of these operations is very special.

The environment in which you work, specifically on Astove, is extremely physical. We all lose a good few kilos a season; the guides walk on average 9km a day, while Jess works 18 hour days every single day. But we all still love it.

Holiday? No. Dream job? Yes.

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The Viking buggy comes in handy - as the crew finds any means possible to lighten the load.

After all the pre-season stuff it’s go time. Stu Webb loads up on drinks on a normal guiding morning.

On the odd occasion after a kitchen run, we get an evening to take a break. It’s these moments that make all the other stuff worth it.

Devan van der Merwe, Jess Reed and James Topham kick back.

“ASTOVE IS ONE OF THOSE REMOTE “OUT THERE” DESTINATIONS. IF YOU ARE INTO SALTWATER FLY FISHING, YOU WOULD HAVE READ ABOUT THE GT FISHING AND SO ON, BUT THERE’S A LOT THAT GOES ON BEHIND-THE-SCENES BEFORE YOU GET TO PUT YOUR FLY IN FRONT OF THE FISH OF A LIFETIME”

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Jess Reed putting a Yeti to the test at the end of a season.

The Astove kitchen is the hub of the entire operation. This is where everything happens: guiding plans are made, dinners are eaten, beers are drunk - everything. James Topham, Jess Reed, Brandon Poole, Dave Marshall and Stu Webb lurk with intent.

Dodging rollers on the way in, many hands make light work.

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Pick ups and drop offs around Astove with the Viking buggy are a big part of our day.

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Cameron Musgrave getting some teasing practice on the pump.

Stu Webb, a former electrician, puts his skills to good use servicing the outboards.

Classic Astove sundowners. Not bad for after-work drinks.

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L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

THE SALAD BAR

KORKERS - DARKHORSE & BUCKSKIN Remember Buffalos? Those platform boots beloved of e-popping ravers in the late 80s, early 90s? The Darkhorse Korkers remind us of those, minus the drugs and…in a good way. They look like the kind of boots Blade Runner would wear if he waded streams. However, with their nifty BOA® M2 lacing system for quick on/off and custom fit, plus Korkers’ OmniTrax® Interchangeable Sole System which adapts your traction to any fishing condition, the Darkhorse is no doof-doof one trick pony.

Throw in a hydrophobic upper material with ultra abrasion

resistance and tonal camo pattern, a molded TPU Toe Cap for durability and toe protection plus smart internal drainage and you have a boot for both the present and the future. More of a traditionalist? Xplorer are not only bringing Korkers’ Darkhorse into Africa, but also the more traditional-looking Buckskin boot. Sporting most of the same features, but eschewing the futuristic lacing system and the modern look for good old fashioned shoe laces and more of a hiking boot look, two outsoles are included in every purchase. www.korkers.com, www.xplorerflyfishing.co.za

SIMMS - BOUNTY HUNTER VAULT Packing for a trip brings with it dilemmas. Several rods squished into one tube or packed separately into your check in luggage? One in each weight or two in one versatile weight?

Which of your babies do you sacrifice? Why compromise when you’re already forking out for a really special trip? The Simms Bounty Hunter gives you all the options because you won’t need to leave any rig behind. With a customizable interior that holds up to eight four-piece, ten-foot rods, plus eight to ten reels in a padded, lockable (NB) case), the Bounty Hunter Vault also sports mesh pockets for leaders, lines and other goedes. Carry it over the shoulder, backpack style or like a really weird briefcase, it doesn’t matter. Designed to survive international travel (we’ve all seen the baggage handlers from the plane window tossing our bags around like drunks wrestling with imaginary friends), it’s called a Vault for a reason. www.simmsfishing.com, www.frontierflyfishing.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

FISHPOND - THUNDERHEAD SUBMERSIBLE PACK We like water, but we’ve lost enough phones, camera equipment and car keys to the drink to know that we also hate the stuff when it goes to the wrong place, like the inside of a supposedly waterproof bag. This is Fishpond’s solution, a fully submersible backpack. Constructed with Armageddon-proof 1680d TPU coated recycled “Cyclepond” nylon, the Thunderhead Submersible Backpack sports a waterproof TIZIP closure and a sturdy harness system for a more comfortable carry. Wade to those far-off rocks or swim up that mountain kloof to a section of river that never gets fished and know (KNOW), that if you zipped it shut properly, your stuff will be fine. www.fishpondusa.com, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

G. LOOMIS - IMX PRO & NRX RODS Fresh off the boat from G.Loomis at Big Catch Fly is their selection of IMX and NRX rods. Looking for the ultimate grunter hunter or a go-to stick for hefty yellowfish? The IMX-PRO 790-4 is well worth a look. On the lighter side, if you want a rod that can handle tricky casts to finicky fish, the 3-weight 8’8 NRX LP (Lite Presentation) may be the rod for you. Designed to handle delicate presentations with long leaders, these smooth-casting, soft taper rods would come into their own anywhere from the Elandspad to the Bokspruit. www.gloomis com, www.bigcatch.co.za

PATAGONIA BLACK HOLE 120L WHEELED DUFFEL BAG “One bag to rule them all, one bag to bind them, one bag to bring all your things and in the darkness find them.” We don’t actually quote the Lord of the Rings when we are digging around for that spare spool, those board shorts or that headlamp in multiple different bags, but if we used the Black Hole 120l we would never need to. the name of this bag gives the game away. At 120l is will take all your shit. Made from tough polyester ripstop with highly weatherproof TPU laminate and a DWR (durable water repellent) finish, with internal compression straps for squeezing even the greediest packer’s load, it also sports a sturdy frame sheet to protect your bag from “baggage handler abuse” (their words). Most importantly – the wheelie aspect, allowing you to save those shoulders for casting a 12-weight. www.patagonia.com, www.flyfishing.co.za

MAMI WATA TOFO SURF TRUNKS Inspired by the crysta tropical waters of Praia do Tofo, Inhambane province, Mozambique (where we have many a half-memory of New Years parties past), these beauties from Mami Wata are styled in a two way stretch, otton, polyester, spandex (!) mix fabric. Designed to fade naturally like your enthusiasm for life, they were designed as surf trunks, but we think they’d do the job for fly fishing too. shop.mamiwata.surf

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L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

THE SALAD BAR RIVERMAN - LEATHER PRODUCTS Out of the Mavungana Dullstroom store comes a range of handmade leather products from over the shoulder fishing bags to reel covers, rod tubes, fly boxes and more. If like Ron Burgundy you have many leather-bound books and your apartment smells of mahogany, it’s highly likely these will appeal to your aesthetic. Or, maybe like us you just appreciate quality, handmade leather goods.

Our favourite? Their signature product, the hand stitched bovine leather, buffalo or canvas covered travel rod tube. www.flyfishing.co.za FINN UTILITY - VISOR FLY HOLDER Sometimes it feels like our flies are alive, crawling out of their boxes and taking over every space we have from the man cave to the office, our hats, the boudoir (awkward) and the car. Especially the car. In the cup holder, the glove compartment, stuck in the visor and that bit around the gear stick where potato chips go to die. Enter Finn Utility’s simple, yet genius, Visor Fly Holder. All the flies you might need to keep handy, from delicate Adams to hefty Clousers, can go right above your head. Bonus: if you happen into a hatch, simply strap the visor to your arm instead of digging around for a fly box. Half sheep, half man – 100% fish slayer. $70, www.finnutility.com

TMC - ADJUSTABLE ARM BOBBIN Two arms good! Four arms better?

From premium fly tying tool pros, TMC, comes this Adjustable DoubleArm Bobbin which holds the bobbin in place with four stainless steel wires allowing the ceramic tube to be adjusted vertically to any position so you can protect the thread at all times. www.tiemco.co.jp, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

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TMC - TYING DUST BAG Another clever gadget from TMC. Unlike many bags where emptying the bag can involve having to take your vice apart, this quick release tying dust bag uses a simple hard rubber slit system that fits all tying vises with a stem with a diameter of 9.5mm.

Simply detach, empty your goodie bag of offcuts, reattach and keep tying. Magic. www.tiemco.co.jp, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

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PATAGONIA MESH MASTER II VEST & PATAGONIA CHEST PACK Trends are funny. One minute tomatoes are good for you, then they’re bad. Vests are deemed old school, then they are back. At the moment, while many anglers are testing out slings and backpacks, most of the Protea anglers we know have swung back the other way and are swearing by vests again. With its simple form and function, the Mesh Master II Vest is destined to ride that wave back into the mainstream.

With vertical front pockets crafted for low-bulk storage and easy access, a foam collar to aid with comfort and weight distribution and multiple interior zippered pockets to give

you stashing options from spools to smokes, this simplelooking yet smart vest even packs a hidden rod holder.

On the flip side, you get the chest pack aficionados. All you want, in a simple device, right on your chest. Like a heart for your fly fishing. The Patagonia Chest Pack may seems small and compact, but with a four-litre carrying capacity, it has plenty of room for fly boxes, spare reels, lunch, water and whatever else you drag up mountains. 210-denier Cordura protects the contents, it’s got loops and pockets galore and a nifty drop-down work station for easier fly selection, knottying etc www.patagonia.com, www.flyfishing.co.za

TAYLOR – ARRAY V2 The original Array was Taylor Fly Fishing’s bestselling product of all time. Its popularity was due to its sleek design, powerful drag, and consumer friendly price point. Designed to be an all-arounder like Jacques Kallis: from fresh water, to salt water, big fish and small ones in mountain creeks, the Array could do it all. Now, there’s the Array V2, an evolution of the original featuring a stronger frame, superior drag strength, flawless stability/tolerances, and a refined design. With a new drag system with alternating carbon fibre/ stainless steel disks for increased stability, power and reliability, lightweight and tough the 8-10-weight is your perfect flats/estuary fishing reel for hard fighting leeries and grunter. Available in 2-4 weight, 4-6 weight, 6-8 weight and 8-10 weight from www.justflyfishingsa.com

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THE SALAD BAR THOMAS & THOMAS – CONTACT 10’2” 2-WEIGHT Both in and out of the mainstream channels the guys at T&T seem to be specializing and catering for every kind of angler, no matter the niche. Fibreglass fiend? There’s the Lotic range. Bamboo for big salt species?

There’s the Sextant. Now, for the extreme nymphomaniacs comes a new addition to the Contact series, the 10’2” 2-weight (to go with the 10’8” 3- weight, the 10’8” 4-weight, and the 11’3” 3-weight. We asked Joe Goodspeed of T&T about what lines he would pair with this rod and to say he nerded out would be putting it lightly.

“Having the right line makes a big difference with specialty products like the Contact nymph rod. There are a number of thin line options designed for European style nymphing, made with both braid and with monofilament cores. Lines made with a thin braid core are very supple, and allow for an angler to cast lightweight flies.

These lines have a “drape” effect between rod guides due to the supple nature of the braid, creating little sagging areas between all the guides that must be pulled tight before the angler can feel anything happen on the terminal end. These lines are effective for nymping techniques where a strike indicator or sighter visually indicates the bites, but prevent the angler from feeling very much. In contrast, nymphing lines built with a thin mono core have a little more stiffness, sag less between the guides, and transmit subtle bites by feel much more effectively than braid lines. On a nymph rod with a quick recovering tip and good sensitivity like the Contact series, I suggest the use of a mono core nymph line like Cortland’s Mono Core nymphing line. In addition to being designed to fish Euro style by feel, the Contact rods are also effective for covering rivers with long roll casts and mends to fish swing nymphs or to cast and mend line with a suspension indicator rig.” All Contact rods are available with either uplocking or downlocking style reel seats. $795, thomasandthomas.com

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CORTLAND’S NYLON TIPPET Cortland’s nylon tippet material is super-strong, supple, and highly abrasion resistant with a low-glare finish and outstanding knot strength. Available in 30-yard spools in diameters ranging from 0X to 8X. www.bigcatch.co.za

CORTLAND’S FLUOROCARBON TIPPET Cortland’s Fluorocarbon tippet material provides high strength and abrasion resistance, low underwater visibility, and excellent knot strength for fishing in situations where extreme stealth is required (yes, full-kit camo wanker).

Knots easily to monofilament. Available in 30-yard spools in diameters ranging from 0X to 8X. bigcatch.co.za

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GET TRIPPY

NEW STOR IN G. LO E O IMX MIS P RAN RO GE

LOOKING TO CATCH CAPE STREAM TROUT? HOW ABOUT GRUNTER, KOB, LEERVIS, SAND SHARKS, SKIPPIES, YELLOWTAIL AND YELLOWFIN TUNA? WITH BIG CATCH FLY YOU CAN GET STUCK INTO THE BEST THE WESTERN CAPE HAS TO OFFER! Sometimes, the best things in life are right under your nose, like the variety of incredible fishing the Western Cape has to offer. From freshwater to saltwater, this is our backyard and the team at Big Catch Fly knows their way around it. From chasing stunning small stream trout in the mountains of the Western Cape to stalking the estuary systems for sand sharks, kob, grunter and more, to heading offshore for skippies, yellowtail and yellowfin tuna – our team of professional guides knows exactly how to get you in to fish.

ODYSSEY FLY FISHING

Contact Richard Wale on 0840706728 to plan a trip, tackle up with the freshest gear and get out there! Can’t get to the shop? Visit our online store www.bigcatch.co.za instead and enjoy national delivery on your online purchases.

Stockists of: Patagonia bags, Cortland Lines, Costa sunglasses, Flyzinc flies, Varivas leader material and a whole lot more.

www.bigcatch.co.za / Contact Richard Wale on 084 070 6728

M U S T H AV ES

PAYDAY

CHRIS REEVE – SEBENZA There are a lot of knives out there but, if you ask around and do a little homework, one brand that pops up time and time again when it comes to quality is Chris Reeve Knives (CRK).

A South African, who moved to the USA from Durban in 1989, Chris Reeve settled in Boise, Idaho, where his blades rapidly established a reputation as the gold standard of knife-making. Over the years Chris has won every knife-making accolade under the sun and produced numerous inventions like the widely used Integral Lock locking systems for folding knives. Although he has retired, CRK is still family run with Chris’s ex-wife and CRK co-founder, Anne, and their son Tim, running the business.

Anne says, “Chris got into making knives when he was in the army. He had done his basic training year in 1972 and then began his apprenticeship as a tool and die maker. As was the requirement back then, he had to do military camps at various times. It was during one of those that he realised that he needed a knife but, as an apprentice, really couldn’t afford a decent one. Very loosely modeled on a Puma White Hunter, he made his first knife in 1975.”

“When Chris was a young man, he rode Grand Prix-style motorcycles in SA and his goal was to be world champion one day. That didn’t happen but the culmination of the success of Chris Reeve Knives, our reputation for quality, innovation and integrity, and recognition by the industry of Chris’s contribution is pretty much that World Championship. It is an honour to live

the American dream. Coming here as immigrants, working hard, pursuing ideals and reaching a pinnacle in the knife industry is a pretty heady feeling.” Chris’s Durban background shows in the Zulu names of his knives from the Sebenza (work) to the Inkosi (chief), the Umnumzaan (boss) and the Sikayo (a stunning chef’s knife meaning ‘sharp’). While we covet all of them, it’s the Sebenza folding knife with its steel blade and titanium handle that’s the holy grail and best suited to our applications. Our favourites are the plain Sebenza, the Join or Die (a reference to unity in the American Revolution) and the Bog Oak, a rare wood in the beginning stages of fossilization (coincidentally both a nickname for our Art Director and an accurate description of the man).

Sebenzas start from $375 (small) and $450 (large), www.chrisreeve.com

BENCHMADE - TRIAGE RESCUE KNIFE

COLD STEEL – SPECIAL FORCES SHOVEL

Genius = a knife that makes it difficult to stab yourself, but can still save your life. Designed to rescue you from car crashes, but applied to rock and surf fly fishing (e.g. the seatbelt cutter used to cut wader straps), the Benchmade Triage Rescue Knife is worth a look.

Best for: those who would like to avoid Davey Jones’s Locker. www.justlikepapa.com

Based on an original Spetsnaz (Russian Special Forces) design, this sharp-edged shovel will dig a trench, prove useful in hand to hand combat and hide a “special forces” bowel movement that future civilisations will marvel at.

Best for: those that poop like hybrid Russian Ice Bear/ Big Foot/Zombies www.justlikepapa.com

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SHORTCASTS

F E AT H E R S T O G I V E Y O U N I G H T M A R E S , G I N T O R E V I V E Y O U , N E W K I T F R O M C A N A D A A N D A F LY T Y I N G C O M P E T I T I O N S O U T H AFRICANS NEED TO ENTER CHECK OUT… HOOKÉ’s new spring/summer collection. Fred and the rest of the crew at Hooké create both cracking content and awesome apparel out of their Quebec HQ and while their summer clothing could do the job in an African winter, it’s still the berries in our book. shop.hooke.ca

BEHOLD… THE HORROR of the fashion industry getting its manicured claws further and further into fly fishing’s territory as the trend for quality feathers in jewellery takes off. Take exhibit A spotted at the winter Olympics by eagle-eyed Colby A. Trow of Mossy Creek Fly Fishing. Add to that craft fur fingernails (seriously) and luxury merkins (as in the Victorian meaning of a merkin, not your go-to permit pattern). What next? Bucktail sporrans? Flexo-bracelets? Klipspringer wall-hangings? CDC feather dusters?

SAMPLE… DRY FLY GIN. Yes, just the name of this niche distillery peaked our interest, but no, it’s no mere marketing gimmick. Dry Fly out of Spokane, Washington was not only a part of the small distillery charge, but they were in part responsible for developing a new kind of gin. You get your London Dry, your Plymouth and you also get your American-style gins.

Founder Don Poffenroth told The Mission he has been fly fishing since he was seven years old. “I typically fish rivers and streams here in the Pacific Northwest. The Spokane River is my home water, fishing for native redband rainbow trout. My river has its own species. You can also often find me on North Idaho or Western Montana rivers fishing for cutthroat, rainbow, and brown trout.”

“Dry Fly as a distillery started in 2007. We made both vodka and gin originally, from locally grown grains and botanicals.

All of our raw materials are grown within 30 miles of our distillery. Our gin uses juniper, apple, coriander, hops, mint, and lavender as the botanicals. In 2007 it was a unique idea to have a geographically representative gin. Today that style is called ‘American Style Gin.’” Light on juniper, but packed with botanicals, Dry Fly is a prime example of the category. www.dryflydistilling.com

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ENTER… THE ‘SOUTH AFRICAN FLY TYING OPEN.’ The only competition of its kind in Africa, the SA Fly Tying Open aims to get people tying beyond their respective comfort zones, winning some great prizes in the process. Those prizes include a 5-day hosted trip to the Karoolskraal Camp on the Breede River with Fly Dot Fish; a guided trip to the Orange River with Gkhui Gkhui River Lodge; vices and tools from J-Vice, Stealth and Renzetti; fly tying materials from Solarez, Stream X and Xplorer, and more. If you have even the slightest bit of talent, this is well worth your time and effort. Worst case scenario? You end up with some flies. Best case, you win a fantastic trip. What’s not to like? For more info visit ffftexpo.co.za

INVESTIGATE...

COSTA’S KICK PLASTIC INITIATIVE which was launched to reduce how much plastic the sunglasses giant uses in their packaging and operations. Starting with transforming their frames from petroleum-based materials to eco-based plant resins, they are working hard at doing their bit. www.costadelmar.com

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FLUFF

THE REAPER T H E S K I N N Y O N A L P H O N S E H E A D G U I D E , A L E C G E R B E C ’ S D E A D LY P O P P E R PAT T E R N F O R G T S Photo Andrew Burr

The Mission (TM): Who came up with the fly? Is it one of those collaborative efforts among guides or is this primarily your baby?

Alec Gerbec (AG): This is a fly that I came up with after a couple of seasons of guiding at Alphonse, where you just know that Geets are in the area but need to ring the dinner bell loudly to draw their attention. Dealing with clients for nine months a season, on your boat you see every variation of every saltwater fly and you find little things you like in each to create your own. The idea of the Reaper came to me this way and if wasn’t for my guide team helping with the R&D it wouldn’t have become what it is now.

TM: What’s the story behind the name? Are there Terry Pratchett fans among you or was it simply so deadly that GTs could not say no?

AG: As a fly tier, one always has to get into the tying zone, whether it’s listening to music, sipping on a whiskey, or watching something on your computer in the backdrop of your vice. I was in the middle of a marathon watch of the Sons of Anarchy while creating this fly, and it is always a challenge coming up with an original name for a new fly, one that hasn’t been used before. I tied the fly on a Gamakatsu SL12S size 10/0 and it reminded me of a sickle, but the name only stuck once we saw how effective it was on the water. If the fish are there they are definitely going to have a look.

TM: Was it designed for specific GT behaviour around Alphonse and St Francois?

AG: I designed this fly having seen what happens when a conventional popper is fished to Geets off a boat. We were traditionally throwing smaller poppers and having to fish them quite quickly to keep the fish interested. I wanted to slow down the presentation and create the noise and smoke trail similar to that of a rooster popper. I have no doubt that this fly will work anywhere in the world where GTs want something off the surface.

TM: Was it inspired by or based off existing patterns? Were the fish turning down the NYAP (Not Your Average Popper)?

AG: I had seen a couple flies over the years that had a round head to them but I wasn’t impressed by their profile and often they wouldn’t stay seated when being popped (skipping out of the water). James Christmas›s NYAP is undoubtedly one of the most effective flies we have used but, if tied improperly, it will spin and skip, making for a frustrating session. The NYAP is what opened my eyes to the behaviour of Geets towards surface flies, and the wheels started turning on how I could come up with my own.

It doesn’t matter what kind of popper it is, none of them are enjoyable or easy to cast, so I wanted something that made a deeper noise than the NYAP and wouldn’t twist my client’s fly line as often.

TM: Has the pattern evolved?

AG: There have been minor tweaks to the pattern over the last couple of years, just to keep things interesting.

I used to use a flat stick on eye which was fine but I was finding they were losing their pupils depending of the variety I was using. I switched over to Flymen Fish Company’s 3D style eyes and was instantly impressed with the look of the pattern. Colours have also really opened the door to evolution.

Depending on where I am fishing or the water conditions, I will go with something to “Match the Hatch”, be it bonefish or fusileers. Dirtier water conditions typically call for the darker flies.

The latest addition to the fly is a rattle, just to put it over the top a bit, and to add another form of vibration for those fish to feel in their giant lateral line. The fly consists of a Gamakatsu SL12S size 10/0, which I found to be very important for the size head I am using. It acts as a keel of sorts with plenty of weight to keep that fly on the water and riding true. The gap of this hook for the fly is vital for better hook up ratios as these fish often eat a popper coming right at you, not giving you the luxury of turning away, which makes for an easy hook set. The tail is SF blend, coloured according to the popper head, with a solid amount of flash then tied on top of it. I want the glisten of the flash but I want to travel through the translucent material to dull it down a bit.

“THE SOUNDS IT MAKES AND THE AMOUNT OF WATER IT PUSHES, SETS THE REAPER ASIDE FROM ANY OTHER POPPER FLY I HAVE SEEN COME THROUGH ALPHONSE. IT MAKES QUITE A LOW THUD SOUND AS OPPOSED TO LIGHTER, LESS AGGRESSIVE POPS YOU HEAR COMING OFF OTHERS.” 100

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TM: When tying it, are there any specific tips you would recommend?

AG: Tying the Reaper is a bit like making a model in that you only really strap the SF blend and flash to the hook. The rest is painting and gluing.

Quality glue is very import for the foam to adhere to the thread base you have created, and for the feathers and eyes to stay on properly. I am using Krazy glue with the brush applicator, which seems to be the ticket. When applying the popper head, I slice the pocket with a bendable razor to a depth just deep enough to close it back up nicely on the hook but not too deep where the gap of the hook to the head is hindered. The thread base is important in that your popper head will twist if not done properly. Stack your SF and flash vertically on top of the hook shank to create a non-round surface to apply your popper to… if that makes sense.

I also add a mono loop below all the materials to keep them from fouling on the hook. For painting the head I use clear nail polish as it is quick and holds nicely to the foam, as opposed to some markers and airbrush systems where a top coat would be needed.

TM: What other fish has it caught for you guys?

The Feathers were the addition to the fly that really made it my own and fulfilled my want of a bigger profile.

Most poppers I had, had a big head and skinny waist. By plugging the feathers into the edges of the popper head it keeps a uniform taper and brings lots of movement to the fly. They’re not the most durable of materials and depend on the quality of the feathers when a fish nails them, but at that point it’s already done its job. The head is something I found at a craft store and with a little Dremel work to it, they come out just how you want. The variation with the head has been a bit of an evolution as I wanted something a bit more time consuming to craft, as the demand for the fly has gotten much bigger. Flymen Fish Company’s XL Double barrel popper head came out and I knew then that I had the answer

to my dilemma. I call it the “little” brother to the Reaper as it is tied on an 8/0, and is a bit easier to cast.

TM: Why do you think it is so effective? How does it move?

What sets it apart for you?

AG: The sounds it makes and the amount of water it pushes, sets it aside from any other popper fly I have seen come through Alphonse.

It makes quite a low thud sound as opposed to light less aggressive pops you hear coming off others. The ability to fish it slowly keeps your angler in the game a bit longer too, as a popping session can wear out even the experienced anglers.

Popping can be like pulling teeth for someone that wants to sight fish. That’s why I wanted it to be as effective as possible.

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AG: Yellowfin tuna, barracuda, various grouper, bluefin trevally, jobfish and wahoo.

TM: Other than this pattern, what are your four or five other essential GT patterns?

AG: It depends on the areas you are fishing, but really it comes down to colour. Tan, black, blue, red, grey, olive, and brown are the colours I stick to. Specific flies? I would say a classic Semper in any of these colours. For their movement in the water, I am a sucker for natural materials. Cameron Musgrave’s Garlic and Butter is something you have to see, a squid pattern that is irresistible to fish and fisherman. James Christmas’s Flaming Lamborghini is also high on the list as it claims many fish each season for all our guides. When it comes down to your standard baitfish profiles, I just prefer them to be less flashy and more naturally coloured.

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THE EMERGER LIKE A NYMPH RISING TO T H E S U R FA C E , T I M L E P PA N ’ S BREAKING THROUGH WITH C AT C H A F T E R C AT C H A F T E R C AT C H . W E G R I L L E D H I M L I K E A CHOP ON THE BRAAI. Photo Ryan Janssens

Who the hell are you?

I’m a 21-year-old city-slicker from Joburg studying down south at Stellenbosch University in the Western Cape. I’m forever trying to find the balance between work and play.

What or who got you into fly fishing?

A combination of Mark Moses, a long lasting family friend, and my ruthless godfather, Tony Kietzman.

Sacrilegious squirmy-lobber or dry fly purist?

I have no shame throwing a squirmy… I dig fishing patterns with stage presence; anything over-sized and ridiculous.

First rod you ever got?

The one and only Xplorer Guide series.

Favourite setup at present?

Loomis NRX and Shilton SL5 - the unbreakable combo.

When I’m not fly fishing I’m ….?

N/A Do you ever want to look into becoming a guide?

Without a doubt, after my studies the first move will be guiding. I fear that I’ll never return from some of those off the grid destinations. Nice problem to have I guess.

What do you consider your home waters?

The ins and outs of Struisbaai, a place where quite literally anything can happen. The fishing’s just as crazy as the people.

How do you pay the bills?

Have you heard of Tesla?

Fly pattern you are most proud of?

A take on Marius Rosseau’s largie pattern - the funky muishond. A pattern that simply canes fish, from freshwater all the way to saltwater.

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What is “Life on Fly” and explain your incredibly serious mission statement on Instagram (IG: @lifeonfly), “Showcasing the culture of fly fishing through the eyes of the youth?”

It’s all about the mission statement… haha. In hindsight I find that caption hilarious, that’ll certainly be changed in the near future… At least the caption had good intentions. Life on Fly, however, is something I really enjoy playing with, it’s my way of showing my appreciation and love for the game.

Sometimes photos do fishing justice more so than anything else. I hope it inspires many others to see what fly fishing is all about.

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Juvies all round, Tim Leppan with a young Overberg kob.

Idols?

Nicola Vitali - someone who takes exploration to new heights. The dude just does it right.

What sucks about fly fishing?

The more and more you fish, the smaller and smaller the fish get. Seriously, the honeymoon phase is a thing.

Do you ever do conventional fishing?

I cannot resist throwing stupidly large baits at sharks.

People wouldn’t swim in Knysna lagoon if they knew what those sharks were eating.

If you could get an all-expenses paid trip right to anywhere, where would you go?

Venice, Louisiana - Redfish. Have you seen how those things chow topwaters? Violence.

Shoutouts?

First off to my parents for always supporting me no matter what. Secondly, Mark Moses and Tony Kietzman and thirdly Will Lotter, the guy I started all the exploratory trips with and the guy who sees the sport the same way I do.

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imagine... no giant rainbows

Trout fishing is under threat in South Africa – without FOSAF Do your bit at R300 for a year’s FOSAF membership.

Ewan Naude

to fight our battles.

JOIN at www.fosaf.org.za

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THE LIFER

THE PHALABORWA EXPRESS A IS FOR THE ANDAMANS, B IS FOR BANGLADESH AND C, W E L L C I S A LW AY S G O I N G T O B E F O R T H E C H O B E R I V E R W H E N D A L E S T E Y N G O E S F I S H I N G . W E S P O K E T O T H E P R O T E A S FA S T B O W L E R A B O U T L I F E , T R AV E L A N D H I S O B S E S S I O N A R O U N D F LY F I S H I N G F O R T I G E R F I S H .

I can’t remember the first fish I ever caught but I remember the first largemouth bass I got (aged about seven or eight) in Phalaborwa. I remember the lure, green with a curly tail and a bass hook. I threw it close to the jetty and “bang!”, I was on. That’s when I knew I was hooked on fishing.

I grew up in Phalaborwa, then I moved to Pretoria for a couple of years – even bought a house there and now home is Cape Town where I’ve been for 11 years.

I’ve never waited tables but when I was in the Duiwelskloof cricket academy in Limpopo we had to work in the bar to make money because we had no cash. It was not just for yourself, but also for the academy and the team. Other than that, from a work point of view, it’s always been cricket.

I’ve either coached it or played it.

Advice that’s always stuck with me came from a guy I used to live with called Francois Upton. He said, I would have more bad days in cricket than I would have good days, and if I was willing to take those odds, I would have a fantastic career. I heard that and said, “I’ll take it.” Fourteen years later, I’ve probably still had more bad days than good days, but I’m doing okay.

The other bit of advice was something my gran used to say. “Keep your feet on the ground,” implying, don’t get a big head.

What I am most proud of is being able to help those that have helped me. My grandparents, my mom, my sister and everyone who drove me to practices. I’ve been able to buy both my grandparents and my mom

a car, bought my dad a bike, helped my sister out with one or two little things – stuff that they could never do for themselves because they put everything into me. I like those little things.

I took my best mate to Bali last year and now we are going fishing in the Andaman Islands. We are going to DIY it, do it our own way on a shoestring budget.

I’ve also been to the Chobe River with that mate and another friend four times now. It’s a lifetime thing I’ve wanted to do since I was small.

My grandfather always told me I had to go and catch tigerfish in Kariba. I got taken on a fly fishing trip to Chobe once and since then I have personally been back eight times and taken my friends four times (Ed: Dale’s dog is even named Chobe).

At Chobe, I generally use a 9-weight rod and a sinking line although the best thing is topwater action in the early morning and late afternoon.

Don’t be shy to throw poppers on a floating line. There’s nothing more exciting.

My go-to tigerfish fly when I get to Chobe is a sort of stripped-down Clouser. Rip everything off it. It doesn’t even look like a fly when you are finished with it. It looks like a hook with two eyes, a little bit of red and a little bit of black bucktail.

Quite big, super heavy, very sparse.

Get it deep down. You can throw the biggest, hairiest flies and they are not interested unless it’s on the top like a popper. Otherwise, this fly is it.

Tanzanian tigerfish, peacock bass in the Amazon and Dorado are the next

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fish on my list. I’ve been looking it up, and the only problem with peacock bass is that the best time is February/ March and that’s cricket season.

Anything to do with sport has come naturally to me. Board sports like surfing have also come naturally for me. I had a couple of stories in Blunt magazine back in the day.

I’ve really had to work at playing guitar. My dad sounds like Jimi Hendrix on the guitar so I decided to pick it up and learn with him. He rubs it in that he’s so much better than me.

Something I have changed my mind about is sun block. Besides brushing my teeth, it’s the one thing I do every day. When I was younger I never did it, but I realise now that skin cancer is not funny.

The worst fly fisherman I have ever fished with is my mate Brett Soulman.

1. He doesn’t have a lot of patience.

2. He doesn’t have that necessary understanding. I have taught him how to fish but he doesn’t have that childhood background. He doesn’t look. It’s a sharp hook and if you’re not looking you will hook someone. If you are not looking where you cast, you will land up in the trees. He’s not very coordinated either. He’s horrible. You end up spending more time having to help him than doing any fishing.

The most natural fly fisherman I know is Quinton de Kock (Proteas wicketkeeper). He makes it look easy.

When he casts – I don’t think he knows what he is doing – but he makes it look like he has been fishing for years.

He’s got stease. Style with Ease. But he is not a big fly fisherman so when he is retrieving he doesn’t know what

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Dale Steyn and Gareth Reid of Mavungana Flyfishing doing what they love best.

speed to retrieve at, so he lacks the fishiness. But when he is casting he nails it and looks like he has been fishing his entire life.

For my favourite drink I mix lemonade and a bit of beer to make a beer shandy.

Every angler should know how to tie a decent knot. My go to is the Palomar knot.

Growing up in the bush in Phalaborwa, I fancy myself as someone who can survive in the wild. My best survival skill is probably my sense of direction. My mates are useless, they get lost all the time but I have that memory; I can always find my way back.

I believe you should face your fears head-on. You’ve got to dive into it.

Whether it’s arguments or something physical, if you backstep, you are never going to be able to overcome it.

I would love to travel more, but I would like to do it more on my terms. I have been to India 26 times with cricket teams, but I would love to go to India when I want to go and to see the things that I want to see and not have a time limit to have to be somewhere. Fishing and surfing are big things, but I want to be

spontaneous. My mates both love and hate it when I come home and I have two weeks free, because I want them to pack their bags and go to Mauritius or wherever with me for five days. I hope to continue doing that when I am finished with cricket and have more free time.

One place, never again? It’s not a physical place but an experience, a bad relationship. I don’t ever want to go back to something like that. I’m a better person now than I was then.

One place again and again? I’d go to the Chobe over and over and over again for the rest of my life. It ticks all the boxes from fishing to game viewing. I love the bush.

What I get out of fly fishing has not changed over the years. That thrill is still the same. I’m more experienced in terms of what I want to target and what to use and, also, equipment has improved. I go to better places to fish. From that first bass until today, the excitement and the screaming and the shouting will always be the same. That’s why I carry on fishing. I will go on tour to Bangladesh and go fishing with a stick, a line and termites - it doesn’t matter to me.

If I could change one thing in fly fishing, it would be how it is perceived;

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the ‘boring’ tag that comes with it.

When you speak to some people who say, “I could never fish. It just seems so boring”, what they don’t realise is that there’s more to fly fishing and fishing than what meets the eye. When fly fishing, you get to experience some of the most beautiful places on earth and with a partner or children you can take them with you and share it. When you are fishing but not catching any fish, it teaches you patience. When you are not fishing that’s when you enjoy the bonding time with your kid or partner.

You can either enjoy catching fish or enjoy learning how to wait patiently to catch fish. These are things you can take into your normal life. Fly fishing is an incredible skill and once you get into it, it teaches you a lot more about life than actually catching a fish.

When I look at my future, I would love to have a nice piece of land with a beautiful dam on it that I can stock with some bass and trout and have loads of dogs. So looking back, say, 15 years, if there is one thing I would do differently, it would be to find that place, get someone to buy it with me and be working towards paying it off today because, 15 years ago, it would be a lot cheaper than it is today.

The last fish I caught was a small bass caught off my float tube at Princess Vlei in Muizenberg.

Nestled on secluded Impalila Island in Namibia, Ichingo Chobe River Lodge is a tented lodge surrounded by breathtaking scenery, abundant wildlife, birdlife and ideal fishing conditions. Part of the Zambezi Queen Collection, Ichingo Chobe River Lodge is set beneath a riverine canopy on the banks of the Chobe River and is perfect for families with children of all ages. Because of its unique geographic location, the game viewing and birdwatching in and around Ichingo Chobe River Lodge is second to none, while the lodge’s location is particularly well known for its high quality fishing. Perfect for experts and novices alike, you can hook a tiger fish, one of the many bream species, African pike, tilapia, catfish or upper Zambezi yellowfish as you explore mile upon mile of the Chobe and Zambezi Rivers. Our all-inclusive package includes secluded, comfortable accommodation, all meals and beverages, and expert guides, boats and equipment.

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