Posts Tagged ‘Lakenvlei’

Once more to the breach.

June 19, 2013


“Once more to the breach dear friends once more, or close the walls up with our English dead, for in peacetime nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility, but when the blast of war blows in our ears, we must imitate the actions of a tiger”.

I learned that, amongst a good deal else, during my high school education. It is a quotation from Henry V, one of our set works for “O” level English and like much else from that time I never really understood the point of it all. At risk of heresy I have never really gotten over the idea that Shakespeare was an odd man with a funny hat who wrote the most peculiar English. Anyway, as best I can tell he never wrote anything about fishing and as a consequence has failed to really grab my attention.

But you see, apparently, and as my dear mother would frequently comment, “education is rarely wasted”, and if nothing else it has provided me with a nice little catch phrase when slurping up the dregs of a rapidly cooling cup of coffee and heading out into the maelstrom of a Cape winter storm in pursuit of trout.

It so happens that this coming weekend is a case of “Once more to the breach”..

EatSleepFishHaving had a couple of weeks to regain my core temperature after a torrid, if moderately successful time out on the waters of our best fishing lake I am gearing up to repeat the process. I have an excuse because I have been asked to help the junior team with preparations for their upcoming World Championships, but then when it comes to fishing I have a rubber arm and it doesn’t take too much bending to persuade me to cast a line.

Currently the weather forecast is looking moderately pleasant, which is nice, because I always imagine that were I to “Imitate the actions of a tiger” it would mostly involve lounging in the sunshine, not getting drowned in the pouring rain. Last time out even a Siberian tiger would have questioned the wisdom of setting a damp paw outside the warmth of the fishing hut.


The lake has been fishing well, with lots of fish, both large and small and when the sun shines and the Matroosberg is capped with snow it is chocolate box perfect.  The kit has all been dried out now, the flies are still looking a little bedraggled, most of them seem to be experiencing something of a bad hair day after being drenched and then dried on top of the coffee machine. No doubt they will recover after a swim.

Of course I have been tying a few new ones, it is a temptation that is hard to resist, one always imagines that you haven’t got enough, and it is odd how often the flies that you tie the night before are the ones which work best. I wonder why that should be.

This time out I shall be staying over in the hut, so shall be able to avoid the rather trying four hours of coming and going which proves tiresome in a single day. Mind you it also means that I shall need to be better organised, food, torches, sleeping bag gas bottle and such need to be added to the packing list, which normally only involves “Rod, reel, lines and flies”.


I am actually very happy to have been invited, the hut, always popular, has been booked solid for all the weekends over our winter fishing period. It is a wonderful if rustic venue, remote and with a view from the porch out over the expanse of the dam. One can sit on the deck and watch the early morning rises whilst sipping your wake up coffee. At night the place is as dark as a witch’s hat, the only other lights from the manager’s house further along by the dam wall, and if the skies are clear you can see more stars than you could count in a lifetime.

Water, other than what one takes along, is collected from the roof in a large barrel and it isn’t uncommon to find a midge shuck or two floating in your breakfast cuppa. The tongue and groove ceiling planks have the odd scorch mark where someone’s lantern has overheated the wood, there is no electricity, and as an added bonus little or no cellphone reception either.The Hut

The place smells slightly of damp fishing clothes, and propane gas, but it sports its own miniature library of fishing books, just in case you didn’t get enough of a fix out on the water. The talk is, as you may imagine, almost exclusively about fishing. Fly patterns, sink rates of lines, good places to drift and such and there is never anyone about who feels the need to suggest a change of topic, only keen anglers are generally prepared to tolerate the rather basic accommodations that the venue provides.


It is going to be nice, and hopefully the weather will play ball, some sunshine and a moderate breeze to push the boats along at a pleasant pace would be just perfect. I am looking forward to it. With a little fortune I shan’t have to quote from school day Shakespeare. Then again it’s my love affair with fishing that drives me and as the Baard say’s in A Midsummer Night’s Dream “The course of true love never did run smooth”.

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Fair Weather and Foul

June 10, 2013


Fair weather and foul.

What’s that thing from the US Postal Service? That motto about “rain or snow?”.

Well apparently it isn’t an official motto, but inscribed on The James Farley Post office in New York City are the words:

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds”

It sounds pretty impressive, but then they actually nicked the phrase from Herodotus, describing the Persian system of mounted postal carriers. Yes we all thought that that was invented by the Pony Express but apparently the Persians came up with the idea well before Charlton Heston and Rhonda Fleming.


Anyway I digress, the point is that I suspect that the same immortal words could be applied to fly anglers, with the useful adaption of “appointed rounds” to something along the lines of “pursuing fish” . Living and fishing in South Africa I get to fish mostly in nice balmy weather, it has its drawbacks low water, clear blue skies, spooky trout and nine inch wide shadows from 7x tippet but mostly it is pleasant out there. Except not now, now is winter, now the rivers are closed and in flood, now the temperatures have plummeted, now there is snow on the mountains, now it is actually pretty unpleasant and the only options are stillwater fishing.

In fact the stillwater fishing here is generally far better in the cold winter months but perhaps many people don’t realise that winter here, on the southern tip of the African Continent is pretty much like winter most places, lots of rain, high winds, and biting chill.

So apart from tying different flies, rigging different lines and gearing up the boat for launch, it also means searching through the cupboards for the thermal nickers and all that stuff to ward of hypothermia.


It so happens that the weather forecast for the high country was for rain on Saturday and sunny skies on the Sunday, and it would have seemed an obvious choice to head out on Sunday, but alas that wasn’t on the cards. My very good mate and regular boat partner Mike had other commitments for the Sunday so it was go on Saturday and deal with the weather. After all we are men not mice right? A bit of rain never heart anyone after all; we are supposed to be outdoorsmen, intrepid adventurers, to go behind beyond what no one has gone behind beyond before and all off that. This is fishing, you can’t let the weather dictate what you do, just get out there and fish. Anyway we all know that the fishing is often best when the weather is at its worst, at least on stillwaters. If the quality of the fishing is in inverse proportion to the horror of the weather we were in for a high ol’ time.


So it was a case of digging deep in the cupboards for the wet weather gear and girding up the loins for some foul weather fishing. In the end Mike couldn’t make it anyway (there is some karma coming his way for that no doubt) so I drove the two hours to Ceres on my own, lashing rain, puddles and some frighteningly blinding spray from the trucks on the road. I met up with Albe Nel at his home in Ceres and we headed for the water in the pre-dawn darkness. The fancy little LED screen in the car boasting that the temperatures had risen to nearly 8°C, positively tropical for this part of the world during the winter months.

At the lake we were greeted by friends who were staying out there in the fishing hut and were most grateful of an early morning cuppa and the shelter of the porch whilst we donned waders, fleeces, rain jackets, hats and whole nine yards, knowing that we were to be sitting in the downpour for the entire day. The boat was inflated and launched without mishap and although things looked more than a little grim, with low cloud, lashing rain and a moderate and bitterly chill wind we were committed now. Plus it has to be said that I had a new reel and a couple of new flylines with which I was desperately keen to experiment.


The first drift of the day was a rather torrid affair, we haven’t boat fished for months and were out of practise, the wayward breezes switched direction constantly and the rain lashed down. The boat spun about and refused to settle into a nice neat track but right at the end of that first drift we hit a fish. A bright silver triploid stockie from last season, fit as a fiddle, feeding close up against the bank.

The sun didn’t come out but it felt a little as though it had now that the blank had been avoided. Outside of fishing circles it is a little recognised fact that although mathematically the difference between nought and two and one and two is the same, in fishing the former is an order of magnitude more significant that the latter and it is always an uplifting moment to get that monkey off your back.

We rowed back to repeat the drift, pushing the boat into the waves with long pulls on the oars, the rain at times now near horizontal. On the second drift we were a little better organised and hit fish with some regularity. Both fishing intermediate lines, Albe’s sinking a little faster than my “Hover Line”, remarkably all the fish took small nymphs fished on the top dropper, I suppose that for whatever reason that was what they wanted.

So the day progressed, it rained, we caught a few fish, it rained more and we caught a few more fish. We would occasionally take what my American clients euphemistically refer to as a “Comfort Break”, which mostly involved walking about to stretch sore and stiff muscles, lighting a fag out of the full force of the gale and perhaps taking a pee, risking exposure of one’s nether regions to the rapidly dropping temperatures.

Trying to undo waders and coat zips with frozen fingers reminded me of a quotation about the most difficult part of climbing Mt Everest. I don’t recall the commentator’s name but the response was “taking a piss with a three inch dick in nine inches of clothing”, we weren’t exactly at camp two on the Lhotse traverse but it darn well felt like it.


For one all too brief spell the weak winter sun broke through the clouds and we basked in radiant heat for all of five minutes before the weather closed in again, but we persevered. At one point Albe got to three fish more than me,(during the day we had never been more than a fish or two away from equality), so I switched to a faster intermediate line and immediately nabbed two fish to bring the scores near level once again.

It is interesting that one has to pick out the right depth to be fishing and even in these torrid conditions and the chore of tying knots with frigid fingers , good technique dictates that one is prepared to adapt and making the right moves pays dividends in the end.

We pushed things too late, the clouds lifted a tad to reveal snowfalls on the high peaks around the lake, not more than a few hundred meters above us, it just served to make us feel more chill than we already were. The boat was filled with rainwater, every single thing from fly boxes to boat bags were completely drenched and by the time we packed up it had got dark. We just chucked everything into the back of Albe’s truck and decided to sort it all out in the light and relative warmth of his garage when we got back to town. The air temperature by now had dropped to 5°C.

It was an act of insanity really to fish so late, we had caught plenty of fish, more than thirty for the day between us, but I suppose when you are fishermen out fishing and the fish are biting it is just a little too much to simply walk away. Anyway what’s a little hypothermia between friends?


I still had to venture out into the darkness and downpour to open two gates on the way home and if I can find the guy who invented the heater in Albe’s truck I might well be prepared to perform and unnatural act as gratitude for his foresight.

Many thanks to Wendy, Craig, Isaac, David and Sarah for allowing us to occupy the hut during our breaks and for plying us with hot coffee to stave off the chill.

It wasn’t the most auspicious start to the winter season, but we can’t complain about the fishing, having spent the night at home under two duvets and a couple of blankets my core temperature has returned to near normal. My body still feels a bit bruised and battered and there is a pile of wet fishing gear and a filthy boat to be sorted out but the sun is shining outside and in a week or two I shall be ready to try again. I suppose there is a fine dividing line between madness and passion and I am hoping that perhaps there might be a little sunshine on the next trip. A few more days like this and my body will lose all its pigmentation, rather like those weird creatures that live out their lives in the chill dank of deep caves, but I know that whatever the weather, it isn’t going to stop me wetting a line and I figure that is the way things should be.