A HOLIDAY TRILOGY
It is with much trepidation that I write about a spoilt existence in which one man can have three perfect getaways in a single holiday but here goes anyway...
The December silly season had rolled in and out, bringing with it both tragedy, with the passing of a leader, and a sense of hope in the unity which followed.
The end of the year had been an emotional drain and it seemed as if the nation breathed a communal sigh of relief that our annual holidays were imminent.
This joburger, for one, was ready for the countryside, far from the cityscapes and tolerated taxi torture. Wasting no time at all we were highway bound and watching the sun rise over Witbank dam en route to the lowveld. We were doing what generations of similarly spoilt city folk had done forever, a kind of make-shift Mecca to escape our urban shackles and indulge our country calling.
By 9 am, White River loomed large and the humidity greeted us like a early hug from a festive aunt. We had done great time, passing many shattered axles of overloaded December Maputo bound trailers and couldn’t help but feel for the poor souls waiting for relief. The discrepancy between the haves and have nots in our democracy is still evident at every turn with the only solidarity here being our collective ‘on holiday’ status.
Turning off the tar at Macadam and driving through a plantation of Macadamia nuts had a weird Celtic irony to it. We were far from the Scottish highlands, and other than Jock, who ran with the big dogs in these parts and my feeling full blown William Wallace, Kilt flapping freedom; there was no doubting we were in a humid African valley. Mind you we did have a bottle of Chivas Regal 12 year old on board, but I digress...
The ‘viskoors’ or fish fever for those of a paler complexion had mounted to a certifiable level as the private farm dam came into full view. I had last fished here a few years earlier, gaining last minute access through a friend of a friend, (I always knew that my agricultural college education would have its benefits).
It was simply a piece of paradise unknown to the fast growing bassing fraternity and it ticked every possible box as a ‘firsties’ holiday session. Once the kick boats had been assembled, looking like floating tackle shows we were sweating like escaped convicts but thankfully ,with age comes a modicum of sanity which prevailed in the form of us deciding to fire up a braai-brunch before heading out. As we sat under the shade of a bank side branch, waiting for the coals to burn
Bass Digest/February, 2014