THE PLACE OF THE WELL FED DOG

Reflecting on the season as it draws to a close I realise that I like many others, have complained of a mixed bag, limited fishing outings mainly as a result of the rains in KZN and lots of it, floods and high water.  But, in my case I have been fortunate that those few windows of opportunity I have had have been standout trips, the hike with the Brigg boys to Pillar Cave, the five days in the Eastern Cape Highlands and yesterdays outing in the fine company of Grant Visser and Jan Korrubel  to the Injisuthi, the place of the well fed dog after an absence of nearly 3 years. 

We picked up Jan in Howick, a stop to grab a coffee at the Windmill outside Notties and managed to survive the torturous negotiation of the organ displacing pot-holed last 30km section of road to Injisuthi – I have never seen it so bad, in fact it is in a shocking state of repair. But, we made it finally after leaving Westville some three and a half hours earlier – thanks to Grant’s driving skills and his seemingly indestructible Nissan bakkie.

It was a day where all the boxes were ticked, perfect weather, the mountain landscape bathed in the soft autumn light showing off its splendour,  the stream was full, quick, clear and cold. The wild rainbows were hungry, heavily spotted, fat and beautiful in their pre-spawning hues of silver, green, pink and blue. There were many of them, mostly small around 6 to 8 inches with a couple closer to 10 and one I was lucky to deceive on my final cast, a shade under 13 inches. One of the best I have had from the upper stretches of this water where size doesn’t matter – the perfect small stream for light line, dry fly, up close and fine presentations. 

We left Injisuthi with smiles on faces and that feeling of having had an elegant sufficiency. 

ROAD TO RHODES 2022

We pulled into the parking lot at Walkerbouts Inn amongst a number of other mud splattered vehicles. Rob cut the engine of the Land Cruiser. It was almost 9 hours to the minute after our 5 am start from Durban.  The trip had passed quickly on conversation with an air of anticipation, the expectation was palpable. Following reports of torrential rain throughout the region the previous day and the possibility of flooding and wash-aways, instead of risking the Pitseng and Naudes Pass short-cut, we opted for the longer tarred route through Maclear to Barkly. It was pretty much an uneventful trip with a stop for breakfast at our new found spot in Kokstad , “Loafers”, top up with fuel in Barkly and a dram or two of a decent single malt on the Kraai River bridge to toast our arrival in wild trout country. 

Grant, Rob and Doc Mather toasting our arrival in the Eastern Cape Highland on the Kraai River bridge.

Our hearts dropped at the sight of the flooding confluence of the Sterkspruit/Bell and Kraai Rivers. a day later the upper reaches had fined off and running clear.

There is something about arriving in the village of Rhodes. It has an ambience that has to be experienced to be fully understood, it feels a little like stepping back in time in tree lined gravel streets and quaint Victorian era cottages. It is quiet and peaceful, far off the beaten track, accessed by long winding dirt roads and surrounded by deep valleys and mountains where the vehicles, mostly bakkies, SUVs and 4x4s, are mud splattered and covered in dust. It’s the kind of place where you can step into the bar unshaven, your fishing pants mostly wet below the knees, with a faint smell of fish about you and you won’t get a second glance, it’s just taken for granted and comes with the territory.

Unpacked, it was time to settle in, grab a cold one, make our acquaintance with those already there and in my case, pack my watch away and set the position of the sun as my clock for the next four days. 

The Dirt Road Wild Trout Association Trout Festival is arguably the premier one of its kind in South Africa bringing together flyfishers from around the country – a gathering of the likeminded, a shared common interest in fly fishing, many returning annually, where old friendships are rekindled and new ones formed. Apart from the fishing it is a great social affair – this year was no exception. The pub at Walkerbouts Inn, the very epicenter of the Centre of the Universe, is always a hive of activity each evening, where stories are told and tales of the tape still fresh in the memory are exaggerated. It’s here where the length of the fish grow by the inch after each passing hour. Of this John Gierach once commented that, “all fishermen are liars except you and me…. and, then sometime I wonder about you.”

Mr Dave Walker the head honcho, the glue that binds it all together – Thank you Sir.

 Of course the festival is not just about the fishing, it’s friendships and the ‘gees’ (spirit) and a few well-established traditions. The likes of the infamous ‘road block under the willow’ where anglers returning home at the end of a days fishing are stopped to partake in a dram or two of the large selection of fine whisky. It’s here that the stories begin and usually continue long into the night at Walkerbouts, tales from the past and the present, of battles won and lost. Then the annual fund raising auction of donated items from rods and reels to handmade nets, original art works, flies, flyfishing books and more. This year the lively bidding and the deep pockets of the bidders raised just north of R50k – amongst the beneficiaries were Rhodes Animal  Care Project, FOSAF and the Tony Biggs Fund. Absent sadly, but not missed by some, were Walker’s legendary ‘prairie oyster’ delicacies. Those little oval shaped parts that come wrapped on a bag (aka balsak) from the nether regions of young rams in the district. There is always next year.

The A Team minus their Shepard

setting up the Road Block

Auction evening, Mr Walker laying down the rules.

Rereading John Gierach’s book recently, ‘Flyfishing the High Country’, the following words got me thinking about my time in the Highlands – “Mountains-any mountains-can make you pay for your fishing with time, shoe leather, exertion, and even disappointment. But, they usually give back more than they take in terms of solitude and the sense of adventure that you just won’t find on more civilised waters”. Each day we  flogged new tongues of water, cold and clear, streams as pretty as you will find anywhere with riffles, runs, bends, home to a healthy population of wild rainbows. The fishing in four days produced more trout than I’d seen at any previous festival. They were hungry, looking up, perfect little fatties many still with their parr marks from tiny 3 inchers to the odd beast of 20 inches. The waters were fast and cloudy to quick and clear, there was the clicking sounds of wading sticks, then a fair share of twisted ankles and barbed wire ripped clothing and torn flesh, all in the day of the intrepid flyfisher. We were a mixed bunch of dry fly enthusiasts and nymphos but all with a common goal to fish, catch a few trout and revel in the spectacular Eastern Cape Highlands – summed up in another of John Gierach’s quotes from his book Dances with Trout – “Fly-fishing is solitary, contemplative, misanthropic, scientific in some hands, poetic in others, and laced with conflicting aesthetic considerations. It’s not even clear if catching fish is actually the point.”

Don’t forget your lunch packs

….sometimes I have to wonder about my friends.

Every day fishing is a good day, but if I was to single out one during the festival I’d have to choose the last day on the Riflespruit at Francisdale – unquestionably one of my favourite small streams. It wasn’t because of the number of fish, because previous days on the Bokspruit had produced more – It was a bamboo rod day with Rob Hibbert, Andrew Mather and Grant Visser who still has to be convinced to join the ‘dark side’. Tucked away deep in the mountains, the Francisdale beat is the perfect small mountain stream, quick, crystal clear, pocket water, runs, pools and riffles. Here the fish are on average larger than we’d experienced elsewhere, it’s here where 12 inchers are not uncommon, heavily spotted, pink and silver. My best fish for the day was around 15 inches, but dwarfed by the old mossback in a run no longer than a couple of bath tubs that rose to the #16 Klinkhamer – it exposed its wide back, pricked himself, I felt the weight and then in a blink was gone. I tried again on the way downstream under a heavy bruised sky that rolled over the mountains, thunder rumbled around us, but he wasn’t having any of it. Strangely, even so it felt like a triumph and a fitting way to end this years festival.

The Riflespruit at Francisdale a beautiful small mountain stream.

Searching for old Mossback (photo credit Grant Visser)

Leaving Rhodes and the Eastern Cape Highlands on a morning like this below as we drove back along the road to Barkly watching Rhodes village disappearing slowly in the rear view mirror was a downer, but at least in the knowledge that we’d be back again in 2023, if not before.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2022. All rights reserved

MOUNTAINS, FAMILY AND A SURPRISE

In late December 2021, three generations of Briggs, from 6 years to 74, hiked into the mountains near Garden Castle in the southern Drakensberg – my sons Craig and Warren and their boys, grandsons, Calvin, Travis, Brode, Max and ‘Motor Mouth’ Cole who entertained us with his non-stop random chatter and endless stories from Nintendo to Pokémon, monsters and superheros. 

A 4.30am start from Westville saw us at our destination with backpacks on, mountain register filled in ready to go from the Ezemvelo Park office by 8am. Under steely grey skies and the occasional spot of rain, we followed the clearly defined trail as it gradually climbs along the steeply sided verdant Mhlambonja valley and up towards the Mashai Pass – the well-used route to the prominent Rhino Peak. Surrounded by some spectacular pristine scenery, ancient rock bands and fascinating eroded sandstone formations, the excitement was palpable especially amongst some of the boys who were experiencing their first Berg hike. Our plan was to spend a night in Pillar Cave at an altitude of 2123m just below the base of the pass, a hike of between two and a half to 3 hours.

The first river crossing approximately an hour in, produced a heart stopping moment when the youngest ‘Motor Mouth’ aka ‘Walkie Talkie’, seen describing how he did it in the picture above, dropped one of his shoes into the stream. A frantic chase downstream, thankfully spotted and retrieved –  disaster, without a replacement and two days still ahead of us, avoided. The constant chatter and laughter carried us up as the gradient steepened and the oxygen thinned, the mountains towered over us and temperatures dropped, but the enthusiasm of the younger generation never waned. We arrived at the cave by 11am, unpacked, sleeping spots selected between the drips from seepage through the roof and it was a time for a splash and dip in the freezing cold crystalline stream.

Time flies when you are having fun. Without signal or any form of coverage and the distraction of phone screens, the boys swam, explored rock bands for signs of bushmen painting, the stream for signs of life and new found imaginations hatched plans for games of their own making – there was lots of fun and laughter.

In case there was an opportunity, I’d taken along my 5ft Boshoff bamboo, a rod named Didima that has its own story for another day, 3 dry flies, a RAB, Klinkie and Para-RAB – a perfect combination for Lilliputian streams. At an altitude of just over 2000m my expectation for trout was low, but if they were there, they’d be 4 to 6 inches at best. Within a short distance from the cave I found a few likely holding pools no larger than a couple of your average bathtubs between steep cascades and rushing flows. My second cast of the tiny Klinkie to the first of these pools, I was surprised by what appeared to be a trout larger than expected, but it slipped the hook before I had a chance of seeing it – my heart pounded – this wasn’t what should happen up here. A few more casts, but nothing. I moved to the second pool, first cast and I was tight into a decent fish, a feisty dash for freedom into the fast water before eventually being brought to hand. Twelve inches of fin perfect wild rainbow trout much larger than expected. I went on to catch another two of similar size all in their individual pools before a downstream wind made casting the tiny dry fly impossible. For fear of being impaled by chemically sharpened steel, I gave it best.

It was a special moment for me, the first time I’d caught trout at over 2000m on the KZN side of the Drakensberg Mountains. To find 12 inch fish at this altitude in twig water made it all the more memorable and to share my excitement with my sons and grandsons, a memory to cherish.

There was an innocence about these fish.  I’m pretty sure that they have seldom seen an artificial fly or a flyfisher, if ever, more likely the latter.

In a blink the day was over and before the light faded it was time to feed the boys – coffee, hot chocolate, smash and tuna and two minute noodles (what is that stuff, flavored string?) It wasn’t long before darkness enveloped us and tired bodies crept into sleeping bags and the cave fell silent for 8 hours. No surprise, Walkie Talkie, refreshed, was the first to rise, a new day and new conversations and stories of the imagination.

The couple of days together was good for the soul, we’ll do it again.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2022. All rights reserved

THE STRAGGLE STRING

Ed Herbst has been an inspiration to me from fishing small streams to his search for the lightness of light line tackle, thoughtful, creative fly tying and more. Our friendship and interactions have spanned a period of some 30 years. I’m reminded today of one of our early discussions involving his innovative hopper pattern that I continue use to this day, and the virtues of creating movement through the use of materials and applying action to the fly. We spoke at length on these aspects and in particular Leonard Wright’s technique that he referred to as the ‘sudden inch’. In his 1972 book, Fishing the Dry Fly As a Living Insect, he articulates the principles of when, where, and how to manipulate a fly to entice a trout.  He discovered that flies fished with movement can be more effective than those drifting freely. 

Ed’s Hopper below taken from a page in my book, Call of the Stream.

Recently Ed has been working on developing another innovative pattern the ‘Straggle String’. Typical of his approach to fly tying Ed based the concept on thoughts espoused by GEM Skues in his book, ‘The Way of a Trout with a Fly’, in which he says, 

“Kick: There is a quality which every hackled wet fly, for use in rough water, should invariably have. Without it, it is a dead thing; with it, it is alive and struggling; and the fly which is alive and struggling has a fascination for trout which no dead thing has. How is this quality to be attained? It is a very simple matter. Finish behind the hackle.” 

The forward-jutting hackle mentioned here by Skues also the Sakasa Kebari patterns which Tenkara anglers have used for centuries in Japan and the equally-ancient Valsesiana flies of northern Italy.

The Straggle String fished unweighted using the silver lined glass bead and weighted with a 1.5mm tungsten bead as the dropper on a dry, dropper rig, has accounted for a number of Natal Scalies on the Umkomaas and trout on the Bushmans River respectively. I found it a revelation in terms of its movement in the water. It almost seems to vibrate created by a combination of the physical movement of the rubber legs and the impression of movement created by light rippling back and forth over the Straggle String filaments.

The Straggle String

Ed has used the Sekasa Kebari/Valsesian forward-facing hackle, but using ultra-fine latex rubber strands instead of feather. His sense is that the translucent Hareline Daddy Long Legs in olive s a better option than the opaque Veniard Centipede legs which are already barred. To create the barring on the latex rubber legs which accentuates the impression of movement, he places a cotton bud behind the leg and touches it with a permanent marker. 

Ed provided the following guide to tying the Straggle String.

Hook: Size 14 Dohiku 303 ‘Beetle Hook’ – a size 16 jig hook can also be used.

Thread: 24/0 Semperfli Nanosilk

Bead: Silver-lined clear glass bead – 15/0 Toho Silver-grey (TR-15-29B) preferred. 1.5 mm slotted tungsten bead if weight is needed

Body: Brown or olive Semperfli Straggle String Micro Chenille or Hareline Micro UV Polar Chenille or Brill UV sold by Textreme and Scientific Anglers

Hackle: Olive Hareline Daddy Long Legs mottled with a black permanent marker

Step 1 – attach bead to the hook and cover with UV light-cured resin to add an element of protection and increase the translucency 

Step 2 Tie in the Semperfli Straggle String and hook it into the material spring to keep it pointing backwards and out of the way.

Step 3 – Double three strands of leg material around your thread and centre them on top of the hook shank. X between them with the 24/0 Nanosilk to separate them as widely as possible from each other. The thinness and strength of the ultrafine version of Nanosilk enables one to use many turns without creating bulk.

Step 4 – Repeat this process with another three double strands on the bottom of the hook shank.

Step 6 – Wet the rubber strands and fold them forward over the hook eye – this is to get them out of the way for the next step.

Step 7 – Take the thread to the back of the rubber legs.

Step 8 -Wind the Straggle String to the rubber legs further forcing them forward.

Step 8 – Tie off the Straggle String and whip finish.

Step 9 – Push the 12 rubber strands upright behind the bead and separate them.

Step 10 – Snip out about six alternate strands leaving a gap between them – this is to prevent them touching in the water and matting together. If you can get six separated strands that is all to the good but four or five would work just as well. The important thing is to keep them separated in the water to maximise movement.

Step 11 – Hold a cotton bud behind each leg and dab with a permanent marker to create a mottled effect on a translucent material.

As Skues pointed out – something that looks alive in the water through movement, provokes strikes. This is what the market anglers in medieval Northern Italy and in Japan realised.

Trout are built to look upwards and on small streams are used to coming up through a foot or so of water and if they can spot and capture tiny ants they will certainly see this fly so my sense is it needn’t be more than a few centimetres deep.

1.5 brass beads should suffice if the glass bead does not get down enough and, after that you have the option of 1.5 mm tungsten. The medium-wire Dohiku hook needs a slotted bead – countersunk beads don’t fit this hook. You could go to a 2mm bead but that detracts from the sparseness of the fly.

Orange hotspots seem to work so maybe an orange bead would be a good option.

The short shank # 14 Dohiku Beetle Hook from their agents in South Africa, Upstream in Cape Town, is a cracker – it keeps the fly small and looking delicate because it has an effective shank length of a #16 hook.

After the extra-fine latex rubber legs, the Straggle String – effectively a fine version of Cactus Chenille – is the second key element providing a visual impression of movement through the flickering of light back and forth across the translucent strands.

The translucent silver-lined bead also adds a trigger element and has been well-proven in Pat Dorsey’s ‘Mercury’ flies.

All images and copy in this post are copyright Peter Brigg Photography © 2021. All rights reserved

THE FISHING JOURNAL

The fishing journal is something most of us keep at some stage during our fishing life. It starts with the feeling that there would be some importance in the record, just for personal interest or that it would become a family heirloom in time.

 

n my case, it involved detailed information meticulously recorded of every outing or trip into the mountains, the weather, the friends, the fish and the experiences. It even had sketches, photographs, old fishing permits from places I’d been to, fly patterns, knots I’d learnt from others and more.

But, it doesn’t always last and at some stage you question the need and purpose, well I did. As a result the discipline needed to keep it going wanes and entries become less frequent until the journal is put away with the intention of getting back to it when time permits. Of course, that seldom happens and instead, now your Facebook page, website, or blog become the avenue to record, maybe not everything, but the occasional item of interest or a short story of an eventful fishing trip. In some respects the ‘digital journal’, good or bad, does have the advantage of being able to instantly share with others your experiences, rather than a journal that gathers dust in the corner of the bookcase and that you page through occasionally. However, I must say that when I pulled my old journal out today, it was a nostalgic walk down memory lane. I relived the fishing outings, some over thirty years ago, stand out moments, the fishing buddies, some who are no longer with us, and the places visited. There was something heart warming about it, refreshing and just plain down to earth – no frills.

There was even a period when I first started tying my own flies that I had a kept record of each new fly tied. Somehow I thought that I’d discover a pattern that no one had yet tied and that would catapult me to some kind of fame in the fly fishing world. It never happened of course, but I still have the record of what I like to call my vintage flies, a few of which still find a place in my fly box.

And, it’s all written down in his journal –

“………… those fleeting moments, like the flash of the setting sun on the flanks of a leaping rainbow, or the gentle mist which parts momentarily to yield a view of sunlight on the mountainside before closing up again.”

THE SEASON THAT WASN’T

The 2020/21 river season will for me, always be remembered as ‘the season that wasn’t’. I can count the times on my one hand that I managed to fish, not because I didn’t want to, but because of the Covid pandemic lockdown restrictions, streams running on empty, floods and personal circumstances. Had it not been for the Dirt Road Wild Trout Association Festival in the Eastern Highlands in April, I would have been left more or less, high and dry.

I’m not even going to try and cover any of the trips to home waters because there is nothing much to say other than the couple of outings below that illustrate the point.

First, thanks to Tom Sutcliffe and syndicate member, Russel Scorer for the invitation for Grant Visser and I to fish the legendary Old Dam in the Dargle. A magnificent stillwater with stunning, strong rainbow and brown trout. My day was a lesson in preparedness and being geared appropriately, I obviously wasn’t. I was taken to the cleaners by a few large, powerful fish that, snapped the tippet as if it were cotton. I now have a score to settle – I’ll be back if I manage to crack the nod again – fingers crossed.

Then again Grant and I spent a few hours of battling the infestation of skin shredding bramble, wattle and khakibos on the Furth, a small tributary of Umngeni River. Our attempts were futile, there wasn’t a sign of a trout, despite a few spots looking promising. The best part of the day was the company and a good cup of early morning coffee at Lions River. Note to myself, give this one a wide berth in the future and head for the streams closer to the mountains.

With the season all but over, I’m  turning my back on this one and will reboot on September the 1st 2021 with hope and anticipation.

A few words about the trout festival in Rhodes. – We made an early start from Westville stopping for the traditional Wimpy breakfast in Kokstad, top up fuel stop in Mt Fletcher and the final stop at the top of Naudes Pass to celebrate our arrival in the Highlands. But, well laid plans for the traditional celebratory drink were thwarted by gale force winds, if not worse, that threatened to blow us off the very edge of the planet. With the vehicle being buffeted by the wind we raised a glass to our arrival in the relative comfort of the vehicle between rod tubes, cool boxes, bags and an assortment of paraphernalia that only flyfishers can put together for a few days fishing.

Jan Korrubel and Ian Cox battling the wind at the top of Naudes Pass

Jan and Ian trying to get back to the safety of the vehicle.

The Flying Dutchman.

The festival was its usual social affair, it never disappoints. The fishing on the other hand in paper thin, cold and crystal clear water with the rainbows minds already slipping towards their winter spawn, was another matter altogether. Due to Covid lockdown restrictions the festival dates had been moved from the regular March slot to late April and with the lack of rain before our arrival, the conditions were challenging to say the least. Despite this, participants made the most of it and although catch returns were down on previous years, there were enough stories circulating in the pub at Walkerbouts each evening to suggest the challenges had been accepted by the intrepid anglers.

The Glen Nesbit, looking skinny, but a beautiful small stream.

In the late afternoon of the second day the predicted cold front swept in from the west making its presence felt bringing rain, sleet and a light dusting of snow on the high ground. Temperatures plummeted and the rain continued intermittently throughout the third day.  A few braved the elements, but most opted for a day indoors. The tying station at Walkerbouts (Ed’s Corner) became a focal point for tying demonstrations, lots of fishing talk and far too many a few glasses of the good stuff.

The cold front moves in.

By day 4 the front had passed, water levels and the flows were better and the fish moderately more cooperative.

On the Bemerside beat of the Rifelspruit scouting for better water upstream, I had one of those catches that stick with you. I heard what sounded like the sip of a fish feeding against the right bank behind the branch of a bush resting on the water surface. It was a difficult spot to reach and it meant fishing blind. I drifted a size 16 klinkie behind the branch, unseen, my leader hesitated for a second when it snagged on the leaves just as the fly emerged on the downstream side, but nothing. I gave it a minute and tried again managing a better drift. This time the leader slipped through without hesitation. The fly was out of sight, a splash, the line tightened and I felt the pull. A surprised, wide-eyed trout shot out from behind the branch and into the run below. In my hand I admired its beauty for a few seconds, a heavily spotted little torpedo just short of 12 inches, it’s gill covers blushing pink ahead of the spawn – since size of the fish is not the point in such skinny water and this kind of fishing, it made no difference to the feeling of elation in that moment.  I let it slip back into the run and like this past season, in a blink it was gone.

A few images from the 2020/21 season paint a better picture than the reality.

Would you buy a second-hand car from these guys?

Its a guides life … hurry up and wait

The village of Rhodes in shades of autumn.

The Bokspruit low and slow.

Tackling up at Bemerside on the Rifelspruit.

The legendary Pop-up road block

The A Team and their guide.

Lionel Ford on the Bemerside beat of the Riflespruit.

A beautiful Riflespurt rainbow.

Knockwarren beat on the Bokspruit

Woz with a good Bokspruit rainbow.

GUEST ARTIST

I was honored to be invited by Tom Sutcliffe to send him a small selection of my art to be featured as the Guest Artist in the April edition of his newsletter, The Spirit of Fly Fishing.

“Guest artist

I am delighted to feature Peter Brigg as the artist this month. I know him as a skilled, innovative, and deep thinking angler, who has contributed to fly-fishing’s many tapestries, locally and globally, most notably to our better understanding of small stream tactics. He has written two great books, Call of the Stream and South African Fishing Flies, the latter co-authored with Ed Herbst.

I asked Peter to give us an idea of how he came into art, and here, in a nutshell, is his interesting story:

“It was in the early 1980s, more by fate than anything else, that I became involved in art. It happened when our hiking group was forced off the Drakensberg escarpment because of a severe snowstorm. We ended up at the ranger’s house at Cathedral Peak. The ranger, Chris Maartens, was an accomplished pastel bird artist. I was so inspired by Chris’s work, that I set my mind to giving it a go, bought a set of mixed pastels, some colour pencils for detailed work, and pastel paper – the rest is history and reflected in a few of my drawings here.”

Some selected works by Peter Brigg”

I have taken the liberty of adding a few additional pictures showing a wider variety of subject matter and quirky sketches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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WILD TROUT COUNTRY FLY SELECTION

Tom Sutcliffe recently approached me to put together my fly selection for the Eastern Cape Highlands for his March newsletter, The Spirit of Fly Fishing – an excellent publication that I can highly recommend all fly fishers subscribe to. Here is an extract from that newsletter with my choice of flies on the eve of the Dirt Road Wild Trout Association Festival to be held in Rhodes at the end of April 2021.

“And on the matter of flies, small-stream guru Peter Brigg has this to say about his fly pattern selection for the Eastern Cape Highlands.“

I have been fishing the rivers and streams of the North Eastern Cape Highlands for many years so when Tom asked if I’d put together a paragraph on my choice of three nymphs and three dry flies for wild trout country, it was a no brainer. Or so I thought until I started to think about it and realised it was easier said than done.

This is not an exhaustive list of the patterns I use there, but if I could pick only six for a trip to the North Eastern Cape, I’d be happy leaving home with nothing more than these in a range of sizes and, in the case of the nymphs, weights.

The Zak

For the nymphs I choose a lightly weighted Zak tied in the original style and with a brass bead. I have often said that if I needed to pick just a single nymph, this would be it – in my opinion together with the PTN, it’s the best imitation of the naturals found in our waterways. 

Gold Ribbed Hare’s Ear

Then a Gold Ribbed Hares Ear with a red thread collar, the ‘Rooinek’ and finally

The GUN

Gary Glen-Young’s GUN, tied on a jig hook and heavily weighted with a tungsten bead, especially for the deeper pools and in fast flows when there’s a need to get down deep and quickly. I tie my nymphs mostly in the range from #14s down to #18s.

My choice of Hopper

For dries, I’d go with a hopper, like the small bullet head variant I tie, and my

 Brigg’s Spider

Wolf Spider, both very good searching patterns that seldom fail to attract the attention of trout. 

Another unsuspecting trout fooled into eating the Wolf Spider imitation (pic Shaun Futter)

The Para-RAB

Then Philip Meyer’s Para-RAB, not because I choose it above Tony Biggs’s traditional RAB, but because I find it covers a wider range of situations.

What’s missing in this pick is an emerger and an adult caddisfly and for these, I’d choose a Klinkhamer and an Elk Hair Caddis, but at the risk of being sent to the naughty corner, I’ll leave you with just these six as my top selection for the North Eastern Cape waters. I have settled on them because my record of recent trips to the area reflects their effectiveness and consistency – and I need all the help I can get.

Many thanks Pete. I’m sure any angler would be happy fishing Eastern Cape Highland streams with just these patterns in their fly box. I certainly would, but I must get down to tying up some of Gary Glen-Young’s GUN patterns.“

THE INJISUTHI

Upstream of the hunted camp with the iNjisuthi Buttress lit by the first rays of the sun.

Many streams have their source deep in the KwaZulu Natal Drakensberg Mountains, some well-known, others less so. One of these is the iNjisuthi, a wisp of a stream tucked away in the deep crags at the base of the escarpment. It is here, below the prominent peaks of the iNjisuthi Buttress, where the clear waters of the iNjisuthi begin their journey downstream, joined by the Del-mhlwazini not far below the hutted camp. Further downstream it is known as the Little uThukela, eventually joining the main uThukela River some distance past Winterton. In the higher reaches it is a small, steep stream, tumbling over a jumble of water- worn stones, between massive sandstone boulders, flowing through pockets and pools deeply eroded over the millennia – banks protected with indigenous forests, wild grasses, rod-breaking nchinchi and budlia bushes. Its arguably one of the prettiest of the Drakensberg streams, blessed with a natural, pristine beauty.

The tiny Del-mHlwazini tributary that flows a short cast away from the cottages.

The story goes that the name of this stream originated from the amaHlubi people who, many years ago, hunted with their packs of dogs in the foothills of the Drakensberg. In search of a place where game was more plentiful, they moved south from the uMlambonja area (meaning “hungry dog”) near where the Cathedral Peak Hotel stands today. The area they discovered was exceptionally rich in game, and so it was given the name iNjisuthi — the place of the “well fed dog”.H

I don’t recall exactly when I first visited the area, I do know it was a long time ago. At that time it was part of a private farm owned by Tiny and Pat Harries, aptly named Solitude Mountain Resort. The hunted camp with its comfortable self-catering cottages, now part of the uKhalhamba World Heritage Park a UNESCO declared World Heritage Site, was built by Tiny Harries. It is one of those places at the very end of the road where one feels part of the mountain environment, rich in animal and plant species, and a wealth of priceless San rock art. Over the years I have visited iNjisuthi countless times in pursuit of the small, spirited rainbows that have survived there since their ancestors were first introduced over 120 years ago.

My last visit to the iNjisuthi was some time ago now what with Covid lockdown restrictions and other militating factors. With my eldest son Craig. we spent a couple of nights in the permanent tents in the camp site and had two sublime days fishing. In small stream heaven and near perfect conditions we picked our way upstream each day catching a mess of healthy, wild rainbow trout. They held in all the right places and rose freely to our dry flies, river wise, street fighters that despite their diminutive size of 8 to 10 inches, once hooked, used the turbulence, currents and underwater obstructions to their best advantage to rid themselves of our flies. Many fought the good fight and lost, but others succeeded in freeing themselves. 

I also netted, on this visit, the largest trout I have ever had from the higher section of the stream above the hunted camp. It was in a pool with a small fall cascading in at the head. Fishing blind I dropped the Elk Hair Caddis just off to the right of the main current and next to a large boulder, a good fish rose and sucked the fly in, I felt the pull and then as sudden as the strike, it was gone. It had felt the steely deciept of the imitation, there wasn’t going to be a second chance so I moved on deciding to try later on the way back downstream. It was late by then and the sun had slipped behind the escarpment. I tied on a #16 Klinkie and cast to the same spot, nothing, I cast again, again nothing. On the third cast I dropped the dry onto the left side of the current… bang!, it hit the fly hard, a short fight and I slipped the net under a magnificent, wild iNjisuthi rainbow just short of 14 inches.  Its colours, almost unfairly beautiful, iridescence in the late afternoon light. A ripple of muscle and it slipped from my hand back into its liquid world – a moment to remember.

It was this pool that that held the almost 14 incher.

We reluctantly packed the next day and left for home as storm clouds gathered over the mountains. We were treated to spectacular, constantly changing views of the high Berg as the clouds opened up again and swirled amongst the peaks with shafts of filtered sunlight creating a soft luminescence over the staggering beauty of the landscape. The silent countryside brought home the magic and otherworldliness of our destination. It was difficult to draw ourselves away from all of this. 

The iNjisuthi is high on my list of favourite small stream, a place of solitude and natural wildness.

MERRY CHRISTMAS