RHODES, THE SEASON AND A VIRUS.

It seems a long time ago now that I was in Rhodes for the 2020 Dirt Road Wild Trout Festival in late April. Since then the world has been in lockdown in an attempt to ease the spread of the deadly Corona Virus – in South Africa we are now 50 days in and counting. 

Unlike being able to occasionaly crack the enigma code of trout, the pandemic has most of the world’s top scientific brains scrambling to deal with an unseen enemy. It strikes me that it’s all a little like a game of chess except the board is made of water and the pieces of smoke – a moment when nature says, “Oh! by the way, compared to me you are nothing”. 

We are living in uncertain times.

The culprits skulk away after being reprimanded for crossing the farmers field.

Had it not been for the few days spent in Eastern Cape Highlands, my season was as Andrew Savides wrote in the latest edition of the Flyfishing magazine, “The Season that Never Was”.  And, as the years pass, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever think about the realty that is the number of seasons I have left. In recent times I have friends, not many years senior to me, that have for one or other reason, mostly related to medical issues, stopped fishing rivers. Thankfully for now, I am still be able to carry a backpack into the mountains and boulder hop along the streams, albeit a little more cautiously and not alone. I look forward now to the next season and life as we knew it before the pandemic sent us inside and into a confusing spiral.

Walkerbouts – at the centre of it all.

This year’s festival was a cracker – blue skies, clear, sparkling streams, fin perfect, bright and lissome trout. Delicious breakfasts, and sumptuous dinners, and of course, the familiar booming nightly rally cry by the Chairman that reverberated throughout the halls and passages of Walkerbouts, “don’t forget your lunch packs” .  The pub at the very Centre of the Universe, ever rowdy, where tall stories are stripped bare, but cordiality always prevails. The selection of whiskeys at the ‘Road Block under the Willow’ were exceptional. And, it’s not up for debate, the ‘gees’ and fellowship at these festivals is legendary.

Here, a handful of pictures from the 2020 festival to wet the appetite, and hopefully to attract a few new faces next year, and especially those of the fairer sex.

Grant Visser, practicing social distancing as he ties on his secret weapon ….. in secret.

Some of us just catch fish, and then there are those like ‘Doc’ Mather that turn it into creative gracefulness as if conducting the Philharmonic Orchestra.

The legendary Road Block under the Willow

The ‘A Team’, Rus, Wally and Woz with their guide aka the poorly paid gate opener.

The 2021 Dirt Road Wild Trout Association Festival, is scheduled for 17 to 21 March 2021. This will be the 30th anniversary of the festival with plans already afoot for a few surprises. It’s time to pencil these dates into the diary. Anyone wanting more information email Dave Walker at dave@wildtrout.co.za.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2020. All rights reserved

LOCKDOWN ART

Art is a creative activity. Artworks—an expression of the artists imaginative mind, a creative interpretation, and intended to be appreciated for their beauty or emotional power.

The Covid-19 pandemic and the current lockdown and social distancing to combat the exponential spread of the Carona virus, has changed our lives probably forever in many respects – social, economic, health, education and much more. To fill the hours of the lockdown isolation we reassess our lives, what’s important, what we need and what we can do with out.

But, in the midst of chaos there is also opportunity. In my case it has been to pick up my art tools and stimulate the flow of creative juices again. It was a slow start, but the imagination and feel is coming back. I admire the work of many artists locally and abroad who I draw inspiration from.  However, to name them here would be putting my head on the proverbial ‘chopping block’ for fear of leaving someone out. But, because of recent conversations with Tom Sutcliffe and Marcel Terblanche, whose work I greatly admire, their words of encouragement, advice and constructive criticism, has inspired me during this time get my pens and pencils out of mothballs – thank you.

Creativity is contagious. pass it on. Albert Einstein

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2020. All rights reserved

GIVING LIFE TO THE FLY

PERFECTING DRY FLY PRESENTATION.

Leonard Wright was the author of 11 books, but it was his first, Fishing the Dry Fly as a Living Insect — in which he articulated his “three tumbler lock” theory — for which he will be remembered. It goes like this: when a fly drifts into the trout’s window of vision, it will notice a familiar shape, size, and perhaps even the colour — it looks different to the inanimate twigs, leaves and other debris.  The first tumbler clicks into position.  You now have the trout’s attention and it watches more closely, identifying certain recognisable features such as the profile, wings, legs or tail — tumbler number two clicks into place.  Twitch the fly and the third tumbler clicks into place.  

The trout is fooled into believing that it’s a living insect.  The next response needs no explanation except to say that it’s what we set out to do in the first place — deceive the trout.  I recall an incident a few years ago on the  iNgwangwane River in the southern Drakensberg. It was a hot, clear sky day – the trout had their mouths shut tight. The run was long, deep and slow. I cast a small Ed’s Hopper onto the edge of the current seam near where the water cascaded in.  The fly drifted downstream, then, in ghostly fashion, a decent trout appeared out of the depths and hung a few feet below the surface, focus clearly fixed on the fly.  It had recognised what it thought was something familiar, but was still uncertain.  I carefully drew in the slack line and twitched the rod tip.  The imitation rippled the surface, the rubber legs kicked against the resistance of water tension.  The trout’s response was instantaneous — in a split second it rose, sucked in the fly, turned and disappeared back into the depths.  I felt the weight and the rod bent in response, a beautiful 16-inch rainbow.  The third tumbler, had clicked into place – movement – an irresistible trigger

Leonard Wright also wrote about fishing his beloved Neversink River in New York State, when he noticed that the egg-carrying female caddis would land on the river surface and then scoot upstream with a sudden dart, probably using the force of the current to help release the eggs.  He called this movement “the sudden inch” and it was the trigger that prompted slashing strikes.  The caddis that drifted downstream without this movement were often ignored. 

Succinctly summed it up in this context, “movement is life”.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2020. All rights reserved

FOR THE WANT OF A NAME

 

I answer the phone. The voice on the other side says, “Hi Pete it’s Tom”.  When a call from Tom Sutcliffe, our doyen of fly fishing in SA comes unexpectedly, it kind of gives one a bit of a jolt, but a welcome one. It feels like the bar has just been raised a level or two, or is it just me?

The conversation goes something like this after a few pleasantries, he asks, “I’m finalising the chapter on flies for my new book, More Sweet Days, and would like to include your wolf spider and wondered if you could write me a short piece about it?” – jolt two. “Of course Tom, I’d be honoured”, trying stifle the urge to let out a whoop, whoop!. “What should I call it, Brigg’s Spider?”, he asks. “I’m not in the habit of naming flies that I tie, because almost all are variants of something that has been tied before”, I said. Tom’s response, “it deserves a name”. Who am I to argue with Tom? – I naturally offered no resistance. However, I replied to say that I thought  that Brigg’s Spider sounded too pretentious and that maybe it should simply be referred to as, Pete’s Spider as it is known among my fishing buddies. He liked it and after chatting further about his upcoming new book, he ended the call. The pent up whoop-whoop burst out.

Pete’s Wolf Spider

I am indeed honoured to have a small part in More Sweet Days, a beautifully written book in Tom’s style of sophisticated simplicity, easy reading, insightful, informative and just plain brilliant story telling. If you don’t have a copy I can highly recommend that you get hold of one and as I was, be transported through the pages on his fly fishing journey as if you are walking the banks of a steam with him.

As for Pete’s Spider, you can find the full story in the chapter, The Development of the Wolf Spider, at page 79 of my book, South African Fishing Flies, co-authored with Ed Herbst – from its origins to the current. Also for tying steps – https://callofthestream.wordpress.com/2018/01/08/tying-the-wolf-spider/

 

Brownie fooled by an early 2000 version of Wolf Spider – photo Shaun Futter.

 It is said, “the proof is in the eating” –  the trout have done their fair share of that. Not just across the length and breadth of SA including Lesotho, but in the USA, Australia, Scotland and soon to be tested on the chalk streams of England. Its popularity as a searching pattern has grown exponentially. I have tinkered with aspects of the recipe over the years to try and achieve the best results for profile, movement, representation of the distinguishing features of the natural and durability – it’s about there. It’s not the quickest fly to tie, but then I have never quite understood what time and speed have to do with fly tying, unless maybe if you are tying commercially or a guide preparing for clients. Like my fishing, I get lost in time for the delights and pleasure it brings me. 

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2019. All rights reserved

 

FISHING ALONE

Do I fish alone? – yes, occasionally.

Do I enjoy it? – I do.

Better than fishing with a friend or two? – No, because sharing the experience and in good company tops being alone, mostly.

So why do I fish alone then?

Because every so often I have a sudden urge to get away from the pressing sensory overload of the city – too many cars and people, cramped space, loud noise, daily chores, routines, the rush and bustle – I find fishing alone cathartic, energising, soulfully refreshing There is something I find appealing about the quiet and solitude.

I don’t know how often I have done it, I’d be guessing because the passage of time has kind of gotten ahead of me and my perception of it. But, there have been many outings, day trips to home waters and when I was younger and believed I was invincible, I made a couple of overnight excursions into the headwaters of the Drakensberg streams – not the wisest thing I’ve ever done. Wandering around in wilderness alone takes good-judgement and clear-headiness  rather than machismo. Fortunately I’m here to tell the story. Even day trips alone can be risky, a bad fall, fractured limb, concussion, snake bite and more. Why do I mention these? – because they relate to personal experience,  close calls I have had – they do make for story telling. A little wiser now I now make sure someone knows my plans for the day. If I’m in the Drakensberg reserve areas, I fill out the mountain register. If I don’t make it back home when expected, they know where to start looking ….. more or less.

Solitary excursions are also an opportunity to reflect on the profound observations, insights and ideas that we are inclined to make when we have time to think and whether there is any truth to them.  On the other hand it could simply be a symptom of spending too much time talking to myself.

When last did I fish alone? – It was my final outing in the past season to a seldom visited tributary of a popular Brown trout stream. It was a blue sky day and other than a stop for a doggy take-away coffee and the need for pothole dodging concentration, it was an uneventful drive up to the Berg.

I was in no hurry, why should I be? It was just me, the sights, sound and the mountains, trout and the stream. Tackled up I made my way up the tributary along a faint trail. It petered out after a hundred meters or so. From there I made my way using the path of least resistance. The stream is tiny, bushed in, the water clear and flowing quickly.  For two hours as I worked my way upstream, I spooked as many pools as I changed flies, the trout were skittish, the slightest wrong move and they were gone. I rose a few, but didn’t connect, they were all small. By mid-morning it was getting hot so I found a shady spot to have my lunch over-looking a decent pool. There were signs of small smokey dun coloured mayflies hatching, probably baetis.  The liquid shadows of the small trout as they fed on the emergers, gave them away, lined up on the edge of the current. There was a decent fish, maybe even 14 inches in the knee deep slot below a large boulder at the head of the pool.

Lunch over I scrambled downstream to below the pool and then slowly worked my way back up into position for a cast. I half crept, settled on my knees and made a low sidearm cast. The Adams with its lightly weighted size 18 PTN dropper landed off the edge of the current seam, not where I wanted it. But, I let it drift, the Adams hesitated, I lifted and felt resistance and he was there. I’m not sure who was the most surprised by the tight line between us. A lovely brown, short of 14 inches, but a monster for this water. A quick photo, the best I could do without help – I’m useless at selfies –  a flick of the tail and he melted back into the shadows below the main current and was gone, a fleeting moment.

It was a unhurried, fulfilling days fishing – alone on a small stream as pretty as you will find anywhere. Next time it will be with friends.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2019. All rights reserved

 

THE ICONIC RAB

I don’t recall when I tied on a RAB for the first time. I do know that it was many years ago, probably in the 70’s and have been using them ever since having proved its worth as a dry fly. Arguably, it is the most iconic of all South African flies. The jury is still out on what it represents.  It’s generic and buggy, but it’s thought to be imitative of all manner of insects from dragon flies to spiders.

Tony Biggs and one of his original RABs

 

Tom Sutcliffe, in an article, “The Magic of the Biggs Fly”, in Piscator 102, Winter 1978, wrote, “If you suggested that Tony Biggs tied the perfect fly, I might argue the point. But if you said he tied an effective fly, I would be with you every time. 

“In simple terms Tony is an impressionist fly tyer, shunning the Halfordian dogma of strict imitation, critical of the formal and stylised school of traditional wet and dry fly tying, regarding it all as a total waste of time and effort. His fly box contains none of the orthodox patterns but rather an array of caterpillar-like creations that are all unlisted, unnamed and very individual.”

Tony in his own words gave this account of his creation and the story of its origins.

“The initial concept of the RAB, aside from being based on the marrying of myriad observations of both water-borne and terrestrial life forms, was triggered by the remains of a much-used, heavily-battered and disintegrating bivisible dry fly. It was the sole survivor from a batch of my first serious attempts at fly tying.

This entity, despite the collective efforts of numerous trout to annihilate it, continued to produce results. The more fractured and bedraggled its appearance became, the better it worked. So much for the argument for exact imitation!

Eventually this “enigma” was retired and for some years it enjoyed pride of place on the top left pocket flap of my fishing vest. A more sorry excuse for a fly would be difficult to imagine with its unravelling red thread and disintegrating hackles. These straggly ends provided the initial thoughts on the inclusion of “legs” in the tying of the RAB.
There is not a great deal more to add on this score apart from the oft-relayed detail of how the fly eventually gained a name.

The event occurred in April 1965 on the Smalblaar stream in DuToit’s Kloof between Paarl and Worcester.  I had been fishing in the morning and early afternoon in the company of Mark Mackereth and another angler. At about 4pm we split up and Mark and his friend decided to fish the stretch between Donkergat and Cathedral pools. Up till then the fishing had been poor with the three of us collectively catching few fish.

I decided to head up the road and fish the stream where it flowed past the hotel, a hitherto untested stretch, and it turned out to be a revelation. The as yet un-named fly certainly worked its magic, resulting in a memorable few hours of incredible fishing.

Upon returning to the spot where we had agreed to meet, I was surprised to learn that my companions had enjoyed little success. Mark then enquired about the fly I had been using, implying that it had to be the fly rather than the skill of the angler that explained the disparity in our catches. I explained that it was, as yet, nameless.  He closely examined the now disintegrating fly in the beam thrown by our car headlights, finally commenting that it needed a name and that, in his opinion, “Red-Arsed Bastard” would be appropriate. So there it is – and the name stuck.”

Tony no longer ties flies and hasn’t fished for a number of years, but he will forever be remembered for the RAB. He is seen in the photograph below flanked by Tom Sutcliffe and Ed Herbst, while attending a recent CPS event in Cape Town – legends in our fly  fishing community for their contributions to fly fishing, wisdom, mentoring and inspiration to many.

Tom, Tony and Ed (photo – James Leach)

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2019. All rights reserved

 

 

 

GUIDING AND THE ROADBLOCK

It was March 2016. I was in Rhodes for the annual Trout Festival and helping out with a little guiding. Having said that, I’m not a professional guide, never have been and never will be, but happy to help if Dave Walker is willing to take a chance on me.

On day 2 head honcho of the motley crew of guides, Tony Kietzman,  asked me to look after a couple on the Bothwell beat of the Bokspruit. They were in the stage of passing from ‘late middle age’ into, ‘the early elderly’. On the drive out, I gathered that they were well-to-do professionals, had travelled widely and fished extensively.  Twenty minutes in it was clear that they were averse to my guidance and preferred to do it,  their way – I didn’t push it. Turns out it was a tough day, paper thin water, trout that were as scarce as hens teeth and to make matters worse the husband and wife team needed help, plenty of it – i was frustrated. It was slow going, enough false casting to wear a grove in the rod guides, spooked trout and tangled leaders – I was however, asked to help with retrieving what seemed like a bucket load of flies from almost every tree along the stream. Despite what I’d been told in conversation, the truth of it was that they had no clue how to go about it – they did accept a few of my flies – it also didn’t help. Their enthusiasm waned early in the day as did mine. By the time we eventually made it back to our vehicle at the old Bothwell farmhouse the sun had begun its slide towards the western horizon – we were ready to leave, tired and thirsty. Their approach to my guiding efforts aside, I had no beef with the couple, they were good people, friendly and interesting.

I was left with a newfound respect for the perseverance and patience of those who guide for their keep.

Approaching the bridge over the Bokspruit at Cleft Hill, there was a vehicle parked under the willow on the northern side of the bridge with boot and doors wide open and the occupants milling around. Assuming they’ed had engine or tyre problems, we stopped to see if we could assist. It turns out they had just come off the Cleft Hill beat. It was the ‘A Team’, Warren Koch aka Woz on Reel, Russell Dickson or Rus, according to him, an older version of George Clooney and then Wally aka, well, just Wally. We were offered  a chilled beer that turned into a few. Stories were exchanged of the days fishing, mostly blanks, sad tales of the scarcity of fish – there was agreement that the drought over the past year had taken its toll on the fish population. 

L to R. Wally, Rus and Woz – The A Team

 

 

Near the end of the third or fourth beer, someone mentioned that we needed to get back to Walkerbouts if we were going to make it in time for dinner – we knew better than to keep Dave Walker waiting. Forty minutes later we were in Rhodes and enjoying a soup starter and homemade bread rolls.

Little did we realise then that this chance meeting under the willow was the birth of a festival tradition. It has since become the place for regular late afternoon get-togethers of those that had fished the upper reaches of the Bok or Riffelspruits. The time spent there is characterised by plenty of good humoured banter, expansive stories mostly to do with the days fishing, trout and reflections in fact on all things piscatorial.

The bar was raised earlier this year when on the last afternoon of the festival, the A Team added to the usual chilled beers, a whiskey tasting. When I say whiskey, I’m talking about seriously good single malts including a couple of surprisingly fine Japanese whiskeys and the remaining contents of a few hip flasks. We still managed to make it back in time for dinner.

‘The Roadblock’, as it’s known, is now etched in the annals of the WTA Trout Festival.

Catch you under the willow.

A. short while after I published this post I was reading Tom Sutcliffe’s wonderful new book, “Yet More Sweet Days” and came across a comment (page 407) that caught my eye. In a way it had relevance to the willow tree meeting place, the ‘togetherness’ and bond among flyfishers. He had this to say after an evening spent enjoying the company of fellow flyfishers that he had by chance bumped into in the pub at Walkerbouts, “I got to thinking that a good collective noun for us fly anglers might be ‘a communion of fly fishers’” I think that Tom nailed it perfectly.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2019. All rights reserved