You can read part 1 , part 2 , part 3 or part 4
The final couple of days of our Angola fishing adventure had dawned upon us. In contrast to the tangible anticipation for the trip to begin, where days felt like weeks, it had flown past in the blink of an eye.
The drive back from Pipas to the Iona National park had me pondering on some serious mixed emotions. I was super chuffed with the days spent at Pipas, but so many things were left undone, unexplored, unfished; note to self, next time spend 4 days there!
We stopped at the harbour in Namibe to pick up some fresh bait. Some seriously odd and mangy looking fish were on display. We were stormed by every vendor trying to get his goods sold to the highest bid. One dude was trying to sell an octopus for the equivalent of R500, and he was notably disappointment at our refusal to buy it at half price.
Back in the queue we twisted and turned our way through the town in unison, until we reached the open road again. Just outside Tombua we made a beeline for the dunes. We stopped briefly to ensure everyone was accounted for, deflated the tyres and put foot toward the fishing grounds.
It was already late afternoon when we made a few desperate casts to get the blank off our back, but to no avail. Some of the other guys managed to land a couple of good sized kob, but our party was totally outdone and we headed for the comforts of the camp for an early night. Tomorrow would be our second last day at the beach camp and we planned to take in some of the scenery in between the fishing.
We were up early and fished our way along the coast to the entrance of the doodsakker. The usual catches were made here and there, but the fishing was very slow. We headed into the doodsakker and travelled along the edge of the dropping tide until the tide was low. We couldn’t head any further as the tide would catch our large fleet before we would reach the safety of the larger lagoons.
After concluding that the fish weren’t interested in my artificial lures, I decided to brave the climb of the huge dune wall that stretched as far as the eye could see. I had to engage 4×4 for most of the climb. You do not realise how steep the climb is until you have committed a few meters. One step up and sliding halfway back; it was a slow and steady pace. Once or twice it felt like my heart was about to jump out of my mouth, but the prospect of what could be seen from the top kept me going. Halfway up, I noticed my dad also started the ascent.
I reached the top, unable to appreciate the visage that stretched out ahead of me; I was partially blinded by the black spots I was seeing. I needed a few minutes of serious deep and slow breaths in order to make them disappear; then I focussed, WOW! Amazing! Dad soon joined me and we just stood there in awe of the amazing beauty all around. The ocean unending on the one side, sand and dunes filled with small patches of green oases on the other and a massive wall of sand separating the two.
There were gemsbok standing grazing on one of the green patches and more traversing some of the smaller dunes. The view was pretty indescribable and photos do it no justice; definitely one of the highlights of my adventure; a special moment to share with my dad.
We stood there for some length of time, trying to imprint the image in as much detail into our memories. We were beckoned to come down by waving arms from uncle Frans.
The descent was a different story; one false step and you would probably end up with a face full of sand or a serious tumble, halfway into the ocean. We had to leave the doodsakker as soon as possible, the tide was pushing and we were left with some fun wave dodging on our way out.
Upon exit my dad and I committed to returning one day and driving from the Kunene River to the camp site along the coast (i.e. along the doodsakker).
The late afternoon was spent prepping for the evening’s festivities. There would be a prize-giving and a final evening of raucousness.
A fun evening left most of the adventurers pretty slow the next day.
We were fishing nearer to the camp for most of the morning. Lunch would be had at the campsite, where after everyone would start packing for the trip back the next morning.
It seemed that the elusive double digit kob would evade me and I was pretty glum while packing the afternoon. About 2 hours before dark uncle Frans let me know that he wanted to go throw out the old bait into the ocean and invited me along for a final cast. Without much hesitation I grabbed my 10 foot spinning rod, my yellow and white bucktail and a white chisel-nose popper. While Uncle Frans, my dad and the doctor were throwing some baits, I opted for the popper first. The hole was deep and stretched far along the beach. I worked my way up the beach, making the popper disappear into the distance on every cast. My eyes were glued to the little splashing lure as it crossed the water, anticipating those tell-tale darting lines behind it or that sudden huge smash. There was a submerged sandbank about a hundred meters out and I knew that it was the perfect structure to hold some baitfish; come on the leeries were somewhere here, I just knew it. Every odd bounce of the popper had my heart jolting with excitement, but only to be disappointed by the absence of the hit. I acknowledged defeat and made my way back to the vehicles. The water was still looking very productive, although not much was happening there either.
I swapped my surface lure for a bucktail-jig and decided to give a last few casts while we waited for the sun to set. I whipped the lure as far as I could and started the usual retrieve. Not paying much attention my lure suddenly stopped. The lure fishing had been so slow the last two days that I was convinced that I had snagged a rock. I still gestured my disappointment to my dad, sure that I was going to lose my favourite lure. The slight movement I felt on my braid as I lifted my rod could have been written off to some wave action, but then, all of a sudden the rock decided to head in the opposite direction. The fish (or possibly fowl hooked shark I thought) was pulling at a furious speed. Shucks, I had not hooked something this strong on lure all trip. My heart was pounding and the adrenaline and excitement had me ballerina-tiptoeing up and down the beach. I felt those big fat headshakes and knew this wasn’t a shark; I smiled and knew what I had hooked. Every headshake was a near heart stopping moment as it felt like the hook was dislodged. I ninja moved my way past and through the planted rods and made my way to the open beach. The kob would take 10’s of meters of line and I would win some back. The fight was fantastic on the light tackle; the braid helps you feel every little bit of movement the fish makes and the light rod forces you to manoeuvre the fish, instead of just pulling it to the side.
Close to the side I would face my biggest obstacle. The kob was tiring and just hanging behind the last wave. The drop-off was big and the waves would surge up the beach and create a substantial backwash. Luckily I had my dad on my side and he was just as excited about the fish as me. Totally committed he ran in behind the kob as the wave pushed it up onto the beach. The first two attempts at grabbing the fish weren’t successful and I feared the worst as the braid would just about wrap around my dads feet. I pulled the fish hard, perhaps a little too hard, but finally (luckily a good hook-set), using his legs and hands to block the fish from sliding back he managed to hold on long enough. The water receded and left the kob lying on the damp sand. Dad lifted the fish as I ran closer to relieve him of ghillie duty. Wow the kob was heavy, much thicker than the regular Eastern Cape kob I am use to. I sprinted over to the vehicles in order to get the fish measured as quickly as possible. 1 meter, now to convert this to weight, unfortunately I had to wait till later when we got back to the campsite. By the feel of the fish I was sure that this was my 10kg+ kob I was hoping for, but the length caused me to doubt.
We headed back, to finish packing and load most of the stuff into the vehicles. After mentioning my catch to some fellow anglers and looking up the weight from a conversion booklet the kob came in at 10.5kg.
Flip I was chuffed and in injury time as well, pretty much my last cast of the trip. I was sure that fish had my name written all over it, and so does his father for my next visit 😉 Uncle Frans offered me his services for our next Angolan adventure.
Some of the other guys were showing photos of their dune driving with uncle Frans earlier in the day. It is pretty crazy how steep some of the descents are! I could not imagine a vehicle capable of some of that footage; I’d rather be fishing, but the 4×4 enthusiast had a blast!
The next morning had us on the long road back. We would travel the same road as how we came, pushing as far as daylight would allow us and then sleep a final night in the bush before crossing back into Namibia.
Driving along the beach towards the exit of the park at Tombua my mind pondered on the what-ifs and could-have-beens. Why does the water always look so good on the day that you leave; I was sure that the fish were going to swim onto dry land trying to grab my lure!
It was a great trip and we caught some decent fish, but not nearly what I had expected. I soaked up the last few views of the ocean as we turned inland; it was over, back to reality, no more Angolan waters to explore or chasing those huge leerie and elf, this would have to wait until next time. I consoled myself with the thought that when one adventure ends, a new one must begin. Enough of this now i thought, we had thousands of kilometers still to travel in order to get home.
The night in the bush was merely a necessity and the joyous festivities we had become accustomed to the past two weeks, was notably absent. The sombre mood of leaving the adventure we were all so excited about had everyone looking a little gloomy.
Early the next morning we pushed on through the snaking bush road until we reached the border between Angola and Namibia. We said our goodbyes to newly made friendships and memories shared. We had to push on to cover the 1030km to Mariental where we would spend the night and then travel the final 1370km the following day to our home in South Africa. The evening we stayed at the Bastion farmyard; considering we had not had proper facilities for the last two weeks or not having showered in the last 48 hours, it felt amazing to be clean and shaven again, arguably one of the best showers ever!
On the final stretch home, tired and a little “over-it”, we discussed the highlights and conclusions of the trip. Definitely a must do, a wonderful experience as a whole. If your sole purpose is to catch fish, then you might be ever so slightly disappointed, as we have similarly great fishing to be had on the South African coastline. If however you have a passion for adventure, a longing to experience something unique and beautiful and to do it while fishing, book your adventure now!
The drive back :
Thank you guys so much for all the effort you have put in to this site. It has been awesome reading about all your adventures. Wendy and I have yet to travel to Angola, but have managed to get to Namibia every year for the last few years, what a place, and great fishing. Also thanx for all the info about dropshot, I have been trying it since reading your site, but haven’t had much luck so far, only managed to catch a Flathead in Umngazi River mouth in May. More practice is needed I’m sure. Keep up the good work guys, you have a good thing going here.