Not even in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that I would be able to go 12 months without a proper lure angling outing. Well… it happened and would you believe it, I survived to tell the tale.
7 November 2014 was the last fishing day we had in Namibia and I was throwing lures off the low tide banks towards Ugab fence. A bus pulled my 10 foot rod flat and made for the safety of Sandwich Harbour in Walvis Bay. In hot pursuit was a seal doing an Olympic butterfly final, myself in tow.
Treading water while trying not to submerge my Stradic 5000 or maybe drown… I fought the currents and 0.7mm lines with 8oz sinkers attached to them; throwing caution to the wind with somewhat disregard for your own safety, nyaminyami se dinges dink ek nek diep agter die vis aan.
Overcoming the odds leaves you with one heck of a story and memories to last a lifetime, especially when you can slap a sneaky high-five to the worthy opponent as he swims back into the deep. His freedom is not a choice, it is a privilege you have after a fight that he assumes will be his last.
Time quickly passed as probably the biggest adjustment to my life came when my son was born. Words cannot describe the love and joy a little one brings. Sure, things change and you are busy 24/7 trying to fit in work and trying to keep your little one alive, and probably yourself as well. Eat, sleep, rave, repeat… edit… eat, sleep (sometimes), work, repeat. Well the munchkin is now 7 months old and perfect in every way… I suppose we must have been doing something right.
When Jay reminded me that Kobtober was around the corner I nearly choked on my Tim Noakes koekie (apparently we are doing a Banting lifestyle change now, I miss beer). Can’t be dude, it was just February the other day! I was left with little to no choice, I had to man up and ask the wife. I had a whole list of reasons and was ready with a comeback should my request meet any resistance. I was going to be stern and demand it, like any husband would… “Lief, please can we go to Witsand, pretty please with extra sprinkles?” After a brief moment of silence, a little uhm and ah, I cracked the nod. I had to restrain my excitement and limited the celebration to a little “Chandler Bing dance”
Jay cruised down from Port Elizabeth and I pulled in on the Thursday afternoon from Somerset West. An hour before dark we were hiking upriver, ready for a short little kobbie session to get the weekend started. The river was littered with the hook and cook crews, making it really difficult for us to fish a stretch without having to deal with the “gaan gooi op ander plek, kan jy nie sien ek hengel hier nie, jy gaan die vis weg jaag @#$*!” stares.
As the sun called it a day and darkness surrounded us, I went tight (now that is feeling I missed). The fish quickly took a lot of line and I could feel the familiar headshakes of a kob. I had to put a little extra pressure on the fish, not wanting it to swim into the lines in the water next to me. I gestured to Jays to come over, but he was already on his way. Like a ninja he traversed the slippery rocks in his slip-slops. He is probably the only guy I know that can dominate a fishing session in the foulest of areas in slip-slops. Before he could reach me… the hook pulled; what a disappointment!
Bitching alert… I am just very passionate about conservation and reducing our footprint after visiting a spot. Unfortunately, due to the lack of education on the matter, not everyone feels the same. The following morning we made an early session up the river, once again met by all these lines in the water. Did these okes sleep here, do they not know it is lines up at 8pm? Giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they just slept there and did not fish during the night, but the litter, coke and brandy bottles, old bait boxes, dirty newspaper pieces and cigarette buds everywhere, it is a sorry sight to behold. Does one guy really need to be fishing with ten rods? We decided to give it a skip and headed back for breakfast and to try again at low tide towards the mouth. Enough moaning, let us get back to fishing.
A couple of hours later all was forgotten and we were wading waste deep between the weed grass patches. I was working a lure hoping to entice a kob or grunter. Was that a little bump … hmmm. Jays joins me… twitch twitch, vas papa. Zzz, zzz, woohoo!… and off, ah! Yikes, I realised I was rusty, but this was getting a bit much, two fish lost. Come on, as Jay will tell you all about the statistics and probability, eventually one must stick. No matter, I was loving it; the sun, the water and my favourite facet of angling.
By the time the tide hit dead-low, the golden boy and I had mastered the art of catching small kob on lures. We were getting bumps on every cast, and were landing them 2 by 2. We were having so much fun, grinning from ear to ear. The big ones weren’t around, or weren’t getting a chance at the lure, we had lost count of how many koblets we had caught.
Around lunchtime we decided to call it a day. We felt like having some fresh fish for supper and not wanting to head over to one of the restaurants, Jay decided to put on a sand-prawn and have a throw for a grunter. 5 minutes hadn’t passed when his reel went screaming. The fish didn’t feel like a grunter, as it had prominent head shakes. A few moments into the fight the line suddenly went slack; the hook pulled. Seriously! Jay neatly baited up with a big fat sand-prawn and cast again. I sat and watched as he got flattened within minutes. This time the line peeled off in bursts, came a little then screamed off again. We were confident that this was not a kob, and most likely a spotted grunter or perhaps even a white steenbras. After a good fight, the brute hugged the drop-off and we struggled to get it over the lip. Jay, in true Golden Boy style was using his now 10 year old 7ft rod and Silstar-hard-as-nails reel. Patience eventually paid off and soon enough we had a beautiful 67cm grunter on the side, ready for a few snaps.
The rest of the weekend played out in similar fashion. We caned the kobbies on lures, but unfortunately didn’t manage to get anything of real size; the biggest being 53cm. Our fishing area was severely limited due to the campers up river, but this did ensure we had a much more relaxed and chilled family weekend, not having had to put in the hard yards up and down the river.
My son had his first experience on the beach and the saltwater, he loved it. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all… Sorry my darling wife, now you have two of us to deal with.
Another bonus the weekend was watching WP beat the Bulls and the Bokke beating Wales. Lekker boys.
On my way back to Somerset West I was reminiscing about the ones that got away and what I should have done different. I already missed my boet, standing with our feet in the water, chatting about whatever, waiting for the bite. I couldn’t help to feel a little sad, until I remembered all I have to look forward to; in the short-term, in two weeks I will be making my first cast in Namibia hunting the abundant bus kob and that elusive big steenbras… tough life hey.
