Spotted Grunter flavour
You know how people say “things just clicked”, well it did and now I laugh at the simplicity of it all. I still get a bit queasy when I think about all the missed opportunities while “doing-it-wrong”. The possibilities of what might have been given this knowledge and experience at an earlier time, oy vey, endless.
what’s next?
Gone are the days when you could rock up at the beach, “okes” asking you…
What do you want to catch with that piece of lead and feathers? Fish eat bait, not plastic…
A couple of casts later you go tight and the confusion on the “okes” face is evident.
chasing kob in the cold
With pre-winter rains looming, you realise that the end of the lure fishing season is inevitable. Once the heavens open and the Breede River flows chocolate milk littered with peppermint crisp and some floating aero bubbles, it is too late.
enough to drive you a little “goldfishy”
I have been fortunate enough to have had companionship on most of my fishing adventures, very seldom have I needed to cast a line and chew the fat by myself. Sure some people are loners and prefer it that way, but I think they might have already passed on to the dark side. The last year or so most of my fishing buds have developed other interests and my boet who usually was the go-to-guy also left for greener pastures. Just the other day, while prepping my fishing kit before a weekend away I could have sworn I heard a voice sounding like it came from behind a mask, gghhh, … I am your father… gghhh…
This past Sunday the 15th of May I convinced my wife to come with me to Sundays River to go fishing. As per usual, everything was packed, checked and ready by Saturday afternoon to leave bright and early on Sunday. Day broke and we were off. It was like Ace Venture would have said a B-E-A-U-tiful morning, no wind or cloud cover; the red lava of the sun washing over the ocean.
and 5 minutes of mayhem
Having recently relocated to KZN, fishing has unfortunately had to take a backseat in my life while I get settled into my new location. However as with any fisherman, the fishing vein soon started pumping extra blood to the brain and that “I NEED TO GO FISHING” itch started to drive me a little crazy.
some grunter surface action
They call them ”Grunters” in the Western Cape, “Tigers” in Port Elizabeth and “Spotties” in East London. Nevertheless, it is an awesome fish to catch and it gives you a great fight.
As I relocated a few times during my life, I’ve encountered many different instances fishing for Grunters with prawns.
when the going gets tough
Stepping onto a beach you know like the back of your hand is similar to cracking a beer when lighting a braai fire, it just feels right.
It was low tide and the best time for the reconnaissance mission. We walked the beach we intend to fish, trying to identify any new formations. Around the first bend it was evident that a lot of sand had washed into the beach. Changing structures and human interference, even hundreds of kilometers away can have a significant impact on the currents and how the water naturally flows. I am sure the developments towards the PE side had caused the beach layout to change a bit over the past years.
because it happens
Few words in the Afrikaans language scare me more than the mombakkie. It is probably the only equivalent to my mother using my full name when she addresses me (spine-chilling). It tests your very being as a fisherman and is only defeated by the possibility of around the next bend, on the next cast or remembering what has been. For as long as I can remember it has been a word that has plagued me.
gedurende Desember, want dis lekker
Die weer op Port St Francis was perfek vir hengel. ʼn Ligte briesie uit die see wat verseker het dat die water ʼn bietjie troebel was.
Die harders was volop en met elke opbou van ʼn brander kon ek die skole duidelik sien rond beweeg. Terwyl ek besig was om harders te vang vir lewendige aas het ek daai allerbekende spartel van water gesien wat die harders laat backflips doen om weg te kom van die roofvisse wat honger raak.
on the sandbank
The detox from work had started. Staring into the nothingness landscape of the Northern Cape, my mind flashed back to the office.
Did I remember to delegate all my responsibilities, did I have the reporting covered, I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach…
but just think of that cool ocean air, the sand between my toes, the waves gently rolling in…
light tackle version
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.
gallery
just a little bit further
The crunch of the dry sea sand under your feet is only drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding out of your chest. Small beads of sweat run down your cheeks and evaporate before reaching your collar.
I keep checking over my shoulder to see if Jay is still keeping up, I feel bad for pushing him this far, but it will be worth it if he hooks into that bus, surely then all will be forgiven?
perseverance or madness
Fear, adrenaline, uncertainty, excitement, hope, joy… you pick the emotion and I will tell you why.
I have often told the stories of catching large Garrick on chisel nose poppers in the Breede River or double-digit Kob on bucktail in the surf in the Eastern Cape. Truth be told, none measure up to that one late afternoon from the launch pad in the Kariega River.
