the close of scales, we were lying somewhere in the bottom half of
the field.
It was hard to put a finger on what we were doing wrong.
Generally accepted among all the teams, the bait of choice was the
large 10 inch June-Bug Senko. What were we doing wrong? We had
explored all avenues available - fishing the shallows, deeper tree-lines,
rock-piles. There was no shortage of fish - we simply couldn’t tag the
bigger fish! We had also tried just about every other lure in our tackle
arsenal - spinnerbaits, Zara Spooks, flukes - all the ‘old faithfuls’.
There is no doubt that skill and knowledge play a big part for success
in any form of fishing. More importantly, familiarity, or experience,
on any body of water is essential. And that can only come with time.
However, I do believe, perhaps rather naively, that ‘luck’ is also a big
factor. I’ve been told, by regular visitors to Chicamba, that there are
certain times of the year when Chicamba’s big bass literally line up
to hop in the boat. It doesn’t matter what you throw their way!
That evening, exhausted, we prepared the boat for the following
morning. A little jaded, we made our way to the bar and restaurant
for dinner. Casa Msika had put on a wonderful spread - this perked
me up a bit. Deliciously moist and tender peri-peri chicken, slowcooked over open coals on the braai, accompanied by a range of
salads and chips - all washed down with more beer - the perfect end
to a not-so-perfect day.
Sleep came quickly that night. I dreamed of huge bass; five
monsters flopping around on the weigh-bay scales.
I would love to say that we had a reversal of fortune on day
two. But we didn’t. Again, we struggled throughout the day. It was
only through Ian’s dogged perseverance that we managed to get five
weighers. My contribution to the day’s angling? Exactly nil! The
weigh-in once again, was both a revelation and disappointment. The
‘usual suspects’ managed to maintain their good fortune from the
previous day - there were some outstanding catches.
The only thing to look forward to was the prospect of tucking
into the mouth-watering pig-on-the-spit organised by the lodge that
night. You will have noticed a trend setting in here. I like good food.
It certainly helps cope with the disappointment of not catching any
fish. Hopefully, our last day of competition, just a morning session,
would bring about a change of luck.
The next morning we were met with a complete turn-about in
the weather. The previous two days of crisp, clear, blue, sun-filled
At last! At the 11th hour - with literally minutes to spare - one of
Chicamba’s big hens finally gave me a reprieve.
P a g e 32
Chicamba is not just famous for it huge bass.
There are huge carp too.
skies, had been replaced by a blanket of heavy, thick, pea-soup mist.
Visibility was only a few metres at best. The start had to be delayed
for an hour before it was deemed that the light was safe. Even then
we were only allowed to proceed at idle speed. The change in weather
also brought about a shift in our fortune and we didn’t do too badly.
Early on, Ian managed to land three respectable fish. Thankfully I was
able to contribute too. Within an hour we had five decent weighers
in the boat. It was a good haul, but not good enough to get us up the
leader board. But it had been a much better day for us.
Ian’s alarm on the GPS unit buzzed - our signal to head back to
the final weigh-in. I cast out my, by now, familiar June Bug Senko - I
was beginning to hate the sight of the damned thing. It landed with a
‘plop’ on the periphery of the weedy margin I had already thrashed
to death. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my line ‘skid’ off to the
left. I swept my rod upward and felt the thrilling sensation of setting
the hook into something large and alive! The big bass pulled back
hard - I didn’t want to lose this fish. And I didn’t want to rush, but
at the back of my mind, the clock was ticking. We couldn’t afford to
miss the weigh-in, but if we could boat this fish, it would improve
our position in the tournament. Slowly but surely I started to win the
battle. The bass’ large, bucket-like mouth broke the water’s surface
near the side of the boat. This was more like it. Leaving nothing to
chance Ian scooped the fish up in the landing net. At last! We had a
‘bragging’ fish. It wasn’t the 12 pound monster I had dreamed of for
the past several weeks, but it would probably go eight pounds Ian
reckoned.
We made the weigh-in with only minutes to spare. By all accounts,
whilst we had had our best day’s fishing, others had not fared so well.
Conditions had been a slow for many anglers - only a few teams
managed to catch their limit.
Later, at p