Article & Images by Graham Weakley
burn down, it struck me that we hadn’t stopped yapping from the time we left Jozi, like a marathon 7 set rally. It was definitely my serve so I cracked two ice cold beers and sipped to the silence of the bush.
Chops, boerie and beer with fishing to follow, so much for bucking stereotypes. The Chicken Licken hot sauce sachets produced from my cubby hole were awarded man of the match status and voted ‘a must- have,’ on any future fishing trip. The sun was laughing in our factor 50 faces and it occurred to me that perhaps PVA and a roller would have been more appropriate but out we paddled like a mini armada to the reed bed battleground. The fishing proved a bit testy with bites coming to anything low ‘n slow. We managed a few hard fighting Larrys all on the smallish side but pretty satisfying as day one drew to a close.
We spent the night at another
farmer friend who showed us
through his tunnel vegetable
operation which was most
impressive. At first light we were
making our way up the steep
mountain pass to reveal a secret
smallmouth dam which I’m
afraid will have to remain a secret.
Not too cryptic though as I’m sure
you will have worked it out from
the photos. We parked in the trees
which line its shores and did the
worst thing a fisherman can do on
arriving at a piece of water; we
went for a quick look -see only to
discover a pair of hunting Sallys,
begging for a cast. By now we had
the farmer mate on board and
with three grown men scrambling
rods out of a SUV all trying to look
casual and get the first cast ,the
fever was electric. After getting
and giving a few flying elbows,
I came to my senses and insisted
we give Murray the first ‘gooi,’ he,
having never tussled with a
Sally before. He duly caught said
fish on the first throw, was most
delighted at its feistiness and
promptly doomed our luck for
the rest of the day. Yip, never
catch the one that you see on
arrival, he definitely warns the
others!
The place is spectacular and reaffirms why we, as fishermen, do what we do. Three men floating on a lake on a mountain, how simple things can please....a few more fish might have sealed the deal but hey, we had come, seen and conjured.... a few.
We braaied late into the evening ensuring our red meat intake was indeed balanced with ice cold greens and whilst the farmer had an unfair advantage it was agreed that by bedtime we could all speak fluent Swahili.
Bass Digest/February, 2014