I awoke very early the next morning. Nature called and I had to step outside to water a bush. It was dead quiet, only the sounds of a couple of men sawing wood (snoring) and the ocean distantly grumbling each time a wave crashed interrupted the silence. On my way around the tent I noticed a couple of eyes staring back at me. My heart skipped a beat, I contemplated shouting, but quickly realised that it was only a couple of scavenging jackals eating the scraps around the tents. As soon as they caught sight of me they darted a few hundred meters away, lay down, and patiently waiting for their next opportunity to venture into our camp.
Again in the “safety” of our tent, I climbed back into my sleeping-bag and lay planning the form of attack for my days fishing. I weighed the options and decided that I will persist with throwing artificial lures every opportunity I get. I would rather catch one or two decent fish on artificial lures, than twice as many on bait. I quickly dosed off again, only to be awoken by voices from the mess hall an hour or two later. It was now just after 5 and the camp was starting to come alive. This would be the usual calling time and we all got into the daily routine after only a day or two. Water was being boiled for coffee and the vehicles loaded with the day’s necessities. After everyone had their fill off coffee and rusks, bait was distributed among the anglers and the days plans quickly discussed. This was another day of being “guided” and we were limited to fishing the area between the camp and the Consortium wreck, the same as yesterday, a rather slow day in comparison to our expectations.
As light from the horizon began to break through the darkness, we were off. We didn’t travel far and did a short left upon arriving on the beach. This was the “boundary” for the days fishing on the southern side and gave you about 20km’s of fishable beach northwards. We were joined by two other vehicles and the rest ventured north. The guys were all rigging up their big rods, getting ready to throw some bait. The familiar sardinello and the odd piece of chokka were the baits of choice, although this was the limit of choice as well. I was sticking to my game-plan and reached for my 10ft rod and 4000 size spinning reel. I threaded the 10 pound Berkley Fireline braid through the eyes of my Fenwick Eagle GT rod and tied the end of the fluorocarbon to a lure clip. The clip helps me to easily change lures without having to retie my knots. I scratched between my lures and decided to start with a bucktail jig; 1.5 ounce with a 4/0 hook in a yellow, white and red colour. Yellow and white is a good all-round colour, and the red fleck rounded it off perfectly. I felt confident… (confidence is key when fishing with artificial lures)
The sea was up and the shore breakers were big. This makes lure fishing very difficult as you quickly lose touch with your lure; in so doing you lose the ability to dictate the action of your lure. The men with the baits all set their rods and were chatting away as I made my way to the water. The huge waves that crash onto the beach cause a hefty backwash and a severe drop-off; it will be challenging to land a big fish here. I started to the left of everyone as the current would move my lure around and I wanted to avoid my line getting tangled in any of the set lines. My first cast landed a few meters behind the shore breaker and I started the familiar twitch with my rod and then let the lure drop back down. The anticipation was insane and excitement palpable. Second cast, third cast, fourth and still nothing. I pondered the thought of changing my lure, confidence fading, when all of a sudden I noticed a patch of working water about 50 meters to my left. How did I miss THAT! Working water is what I call an area where the waves and current cause sand to be kicked up off the bottom. This is normally the type of area I prefer to target as the colour in the water provide larger fish with a bit of camouflage to stalk their pray, this also loosens food in the sand giving the bait fish something to feed on. I sprinted over to the spot and cast my lure just over the sandy area.
The sun had snuck its head over the horizon and the warmth felt comforting after the cool early morning; on my second twitch as my lure entered the working water I felt a bump on my line. I dropped the lure back down waiting for the take, twitch again, drop, nothing. My heart was pounding in my chest, adrenaline pulsating through my veins. I reeled in the last couple of meters through the shore break and checked my hook; nope still sharp as ever, definitely not a rock I hit.
I wasted little time in casting again. My lure dropped on the edge of the working water, I let it sink to the bottom. One, two, three I counted and I lifted my rod tip, bouncing the lure off the bottom, then dropping the tip and reeling in the slack. I lifted the rod again; my lure stopped, I think my heart might have stopped for a second as well. I felt my rod bend under the pressure, and there it was, my reel screaming, I was ON! I shouted with joy and in so doing got the attention of the fellow rush of blue seekers. They returned a shout of joy and came wandering on over. A few minutes into the fight and things were looking good. The fish had taken quite a couple of meters of braid on its first run but was now just using the current to hang behind the shore breaker. I felt the very familiar headshakes, I knew what this was. I negotiated my way up and down the beach trying to tire the fish without putting too much pressure on it. With one big surge of a wave I managed to get the fish into the shallows and held the pressure. The next wave helped me pull the fish close enough in order to lay claim to my prize. I wasted no time in grabbing the tail and presented the beaut to the applause from the spectators. My first Angolan kob; not a monster by any means, but a good 85 odd centimeters to get things started. A few snaps were taken and the fish was quickly released to fight another day. What a way to start the day!
With the tide dropping quickly the spot with the working water soon disappeared and I was unable to get another cast in. There was nothing happening on the bait and the guys suggested we find a better spot.
Uncle Frans mentioned that he needs to go and look what the entrance to the “doodsakker” looks like and we decided to follow his vehicle down the beach. This was actually taboo as we were not supposed to be fishing further south, but being led by the main tour guide, we ventured forth. The goal of this exercise was to assess whether we would be able to take all the vehicles safely through the “doodsakker” in the coming days. Excited!
We travelled a good couple of kilometres down the beach, but the tide was still too high for us to get close enough. An hour or so to kill, what to do… duh! Fish! We grabbed the rods and were ready in minutes. My dad and I were both throwing artificial lures, while the doctor and Uncle Frans were fishing with bait. There were no big fish around, but my dad and I were having a field day catching good sized black-tail (kolstert/dassies) on small bucktails and dropshot.
These were aggressive little fighters and made for loads of fun on the light tackle.
Finally doctor Herman got in on the action. He was tip-toeing around and pulling hard using his heavy tackle. Not long and a beautiful kob was presented for a couple of photos. This was his first fish of the trip and he was noticeably grateful; nothing like getting the monkey off your back to get the ball rolling.
Soon the tide was all the way out and we ducked for the entrance.
We were flying down the beach, dodging and swerving for bumps and incoming waves. Inside the luxury of the Amarok we were cruising in style, with the most comfortable ride ever.
There were hundreds and thousands of birds along this stretch of beach; it was a pretty spectacular sight to behold. There were so many in the water that the ocean looked to be black from afar. They were all perched on the dunes, and headed for the safety of the water as we drove past. How they did not drown each other, I don’t know; flapping and scurrying through and over the waves. I hope they left some fish for us; surely this amount of birds will take out a whole season of hatched fish!
Finally arriving at the entrance to the doodsakker; we rounded the protruding rocks and dune and we were inside. Wow! It was an amazing sight. MASSIVE sand-dunes on the one side, a couple of meters of beach and then the ocean… and this was low tide! The dunes were so steep that they almost seemed to be vertical. It would be a very hard task to traverse one on foot, but I was sure going to try in the next couple of days, can you imagine the view from up there!
Uncle Frans suggested that we have a go for fish here. The water seemed a little uninviting. It was really flat with very little structure, but as I decided this morning, artificials it is. I walked a little way up the beach, looking for a spot that might yield a fish. I found nothing so decided to just have a few random casts for my efforts, this is after-all Angola, and perhaps these fish like this kind of water. I was now fishing with an olive and white bucktail, a favourite back home in South Africa. Each cast yielded numerous bites from the black-tails and I landed a couple in quick successions. It’s all good and fun but they were destroying the hairs on my bucktail, almost like giving my lures a haircut. I scouted around and noticed a nearby spot where the current pulled some sand back into the water, it formed a patch of sandy water a couple meters wide and a few meters in length, perfect! As I made my over there the excitement started to build again, the rush of blue experience was looming. I made my first cast over the sandy patch, let my lure sink to the bottom, and twitched the tip back up. The first bounce into the sandy water and… Yip, the lure stopped dead, YEAH, ON!!!
You can’t describe that excitement of hearing the zzzz from your reel. Hold on, you have plenty of line, let the brute tire himself. Each time I was given half a chance I brought him closer. Once I had him out of the last wave and into the shallows I realized that I was standing in 2 feet of water and the dry beach was about 50 meters behind me. I could either try to grab the fish, risking injuring myself and the fish, or I could chance the hook pulling, by carefully guiding him along all the way to the beach. The latter seemed most viable (due to past experience) and I proceeded to carefully pull the fish along. If you keep his head turned and slightly lifted above the water-line, he pretty much goes where to want. After a few nervous moments the 2nd beauty of the morning lay on its side on the cool moist beach sand; another lovely kob of about 80 centimeters. After a few quick snaps I released the fish to fight another day, nothing like seeing a worthy adversary swim away with its well-deserved freedom after a good fight. Kob on lures, YES PLEASE!!
With the tide pushing we were forced to exit the doodsakker or risk being trapped inside. The realisation of having just been inside one of the iconic reasons for visiting this part of Angola had my dad and me chatting up a storm on the way back. It is quite a sight to behold, and we only saw the entrance! Uncle Frans pulled up to a good looking spot and mentioned that we should have a cast before heading back to the camp. He drives a double cab Toyota landcruiser and has some serious off-road tyres on it. He traverses most sandy areas with the utmost of ease, and he does not even deflate his tyres to a lower pressure. Years of experience sure pays off, although the Amarok also followed suite with ease.
After many casts with various artificial lures and not even a single bite I saw Uncle Frans get pulled flat. He made short work of a young bronzie and in no time had another bait out. Next was Doc Herman to go on and then my dad. It seemed that the bronzies were all congregated in the little area we were fishing.
I decided that I might as well cast my big rod while I fished artificials on the side. I baited up with some sardinello and sent it flying. I had not even tightened up the slack when I felt the line start to go away; a cast right in the fish’s mouth. It’s hard to describe the sheer power of a bronzie pulling in the opposite direction; not being a shark fisherman, I had a rude awakening on my 14ft (4-6 ounce) rod and 50 size Daiwa Grandwave. Line was stripped at the rate of knots and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Approximately 20 minutes later, and 500 meters down the beach I was still standing bent double and drenched in sweat. No matter how hard I pulled I was making very little progress. Determined to get this fella out, I kept the pressure; eventually I could feel the shark start to tire.
I used the waves to my advantage and without anyone there to assist I managed to grab the brute by the tail. Is this it I thought… only to realise I had hooked him in the pectoral fin, no wonder the fight was so extended, pulling a shark sideways is no easy feat. A good 40 kilograms, it wasn’t a bad catch, but nowhere near the size of the bronzies that frequent this area.
Exhausted, I sat down onto one of the camp chairs, cracked a beer top and took a few big gulps. The absolute awe of being on the Angolan coast and realisation of the beauty around us overwhelmed me, high fives were in order. What an experience to share with my dad; the only regret was that Jays (the golden boy) wasn’t there to share the experience with us.
Soon we were back at camp, in time to enjoy another cold one as the sun bid us farewell at the close of day two of fishing the Angolan coast. The prospects of what the third days fishing would yield had the crowd jolly that evening. The Namibian guys had found the bronzies as well and were all too proud of their catches; some guys having landed 6 or 7 each. A friendly competition was declared amongst them and soon some chirps were doing the rounds. Needless to say, fines were issued which just fuelled the fire. As the crowd became a little more rowdy I ducked for the peace of our tent, after-all, I had some serious fishing to do the following morning…
read Angola – The RUSH of the unknown (Part 3)
