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”.

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 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

THE KARNEMELKSPRUIT

I discovered the Karnemelkspruit ( KMS) some 20 years ago as part of a 10 day trip to the North Eastern Cape to fish the fabled waters of that region with a group of friends. After fishing the Upper Bell, Sterkspruit, Kraai, Bokspruit and the Rifelspruit, we made our way across to Lupela Lodge for 3 days on the Karnemelkspruit.

Alf and Denise Ross are the owners of the farm The Camp. The name originated from the fact that this is where the surveyors made their camp in the 1860s. The farm was also used by the wool farmers of the surrounding mountain farms as they transported their products to Lady Grey prior to the opening of Jouberts Pass in 1903. Part of the old road is visible even today, as is the ruin of the original two-room stone house. It is through this farm that a lovely 7 km stretch of the picturesque stream, the Karringmelkspruit flows. This is the commonly used name of the stream today. Translated from Afrikaans, Karringmelk means “buttermilk” which may well be derived from the prominent butter-coloured bedrock found in places throughout this stream. 

The picture above shows Fred Steynberg and Alf Ross discussing the origins of the name as reflected in the title deeds dating back to the 1800s. The text refers to the Karnemelkspruit, whilst the survey diagram describes it as the Karnmelkspruit. Could it simply have been a spelling mistake? I don’t think too much turns on this, but Alf is of the view that the Karnemelkspruit, possibly of Dutch origins, is the correct one. Either way, this is a magnificent river — a flyfisher’s delight. 

 The KMS has chiselled its way through some breathtaking, craggy scenery over the millennia. The outcrops of weathered sandstone and rock bands make this river quite unique. In places the stream is littered with massive blocks of stone that at one time must have crashed their way into the valley from the surrounding ridges. The water types and structure of the river are diverse – deep runs, cascading riffles, even pocket water and a few pools where a float tube would hardly be out of place. If you are looking for a river and mountain stream in one, look no further, a place where the fishing can be challenging and quite technical.

Alf and Denise Ross are a warm, welcoming couple and have always made the stay at Lupela like visiting old friends. They’d occasionally pop in when we arrived back after the days fishing and join us for a drink or to drop off a loaf of hot, freshly baked bread. Denise also made it clear to us on that first visit, that the trout were her friends — some she claimed she knew by name — and that if harm came to any of them, we would have to deal with her wrath! We all knew that old saying, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” – we were not going to test the truth of it and stuck to the rules of catch and release and barbless hooks, and so, we have remained friends. My experience has been that the KMS trout are fewer but larger than those found in and around the Rhodes area – on average 10 to 12 inches, but with many solid fish between 14 and 16 inches and then trophy specimens bigger than that. I have seen fish that were clearly above the 20 inch mark.  

I took my best fish from the KMS on that first visit and recall to this day how it unfolded. It was a short way up from the lodge in a narrow, deep, fast flowing run shaded by overhanging vegetation. I watched for awhile and then saw it, the shadow of a large fish on the yellow coloured bedrock, it was some fish – my heart began to race. Its muscled flanks working against the pull of the current, keeping it there, nose upstream near the head of the pool. It flicked it’s tail and sucked in an insect off the surface, so graceful that it showed no disturbance, no wrinkle of portent. Hands shaking, I squeezed into position amongst the vegetation and, using a roll-cast, managed on the third attempt to drop the nymph into the fast water at the head of the pool where I wanted it. 

 I had to strip line quickly as the indicator raced down towards me. the shadow moved across bedrock, there was a flash of colour, the indicator disappeared, I struck and felt the weight of a good fish. It dashed for freedom downstream and for the lip of the tail. I couldn’t follow because of the thick vegetation – it was a wild ride, it fought fiercely, a fight for existence, survival, its weight on the rod was pure force, undiluted and fundamental – me trying to avoid getting the line hooked up in the bushes, and the trout tearing around trying to do just that, turning end over end in the narrow arena. It tired, and slowly allowed me to slip the net under it and rest there. A trout of years and substance, nearly 20 inches long. I slipped the hook from its jaw and resisted the temptation to touch it again, marvelled for a few seconds at its beauty, its wildness, then sunk the net deeper so that it hung free in the current. It stayed there briefly, swaying gently then as if in slow motion dropped its head, flinched gently and was gone. It was some trout – a wild river trout of a lifetime, perhaps.

I have been back to fish the KMS now on a number of occasions since the first 20 years ago, but I know there should have been more. My passion for fast flowing trout water is restless, undisciplined – I’m haunted by trout streams, their restless energy, some delight me, others challenge me, a handful have seeped into my blood,  the Karnemelkspruit is one. 

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

THE RIFLESPRUIT

Rereading John Gierach’s book, ‘Flyfishing the High Country’, the following words got me thinking about my favourite streams, 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 civilized waters.

The upper waters of the Riflespruit a tributary of the Bokspruit in the North Eastern Cape Highlands is in my top five streams in SA. Although I have fished some of the lower sections closer to the confluence with the Bokspruit, I was first introduced to the Francisdale waters of the Riflespruit by Miles and Inge Divett in 2014. Miles at the time owned the undeveloped farm Francisdale. 

The freestone stream begins its journey high in the surrounding mountains flowing steeply downstream before reaching the common boundary with the farm Mt Mourne where the gradient eases and the character changes into more pastoral settings. The stream as it crosses Francisdale, has a lot of pocket water that can hide some beautiful fish, but there are also fair sized runs,  slick glides, braided fast-water and even stair-step plunge pools – here in my mind the dry fly is king. It is a typically healthy mountain drainage unaffected by human impacts and farming operations. The home-grown rainbow trout are on average between 10 and 12 inches, and their numbers determined by the environment. If you happen take a 16 incher you’ve probably caught one of the old mossbacks in the stream – Miles tells me that they’re there. To make the point, on a subsequent visit, Ian Cox and I stood on high ground looking down on a long deep run watching two fish that were clearly a lot bigger than the average. We guided Grant Visser, unsighted, to an almost impossible position, but his cast over shot mark and the two mossbacks were gone in the blink of an eye.

My first visit.  After a leisurely breakfast at Walkerbouts in Rhodes, we drove under leaden skies, the 25 odd kilometers to the end of the road at the Mt Mourne farm house, met Braam Botha salt of the earth farmer with a handshake of steel, tackled up and walked the 20 minutes to our starting point at the lower boundary of Francisdale. A light drizzle had begun, fishing, we leapfrogged our way upstream. Fifteen minutes in, with a couple of small fish netted, the heavens opened and we were drenched within minutes. Miles suggested we give it 10 minutes and unless the rain eased that we should pack it in and try another day. Like some divine intervention, the weather gods were kind to us and the rain stopped, skies began to clear, the mist lifted and the beauty of the surrounding mountains literally sparkled after the rain. The day warmed and the caddis and mayflies made an appearance – the trout were looking up. We fished on spending a sublime day on the upper Riflespruit and for me, the excitement of discovering new water in such a pristine environment. The day passed all too quickly and eventually, we needed to turn for the long walk back to our vehicle before nightfall so that we wouldn’t break a leg scrambling over boulders or falling off a ledge in the dark.

Since this first introduction I have fished the Riflespruit on Francisdale on a number of occasions – under blue sky days, then after a drought when the stream was down to its bare bones and once in flood when the many crossings were impossible and when we were forced to admit defeat. The trout have on each occasion been mostly cooperative, fat, healthy – and full of fight. 

It is a magnificent upland stream deservedly in my top five favourites – it has never disappointed.

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

THE UBIQUITOUS WOLF SPIDER

In the early sixties a fly was developed which symbolised a radical change in fly fishing technique as it was then practised in South Africa. The Caribou Spider was tied by a British expat, Mark Mackereth. It was probably the first local fly made of spun and clipped deer hair and the first tied specifically to imitate the Lycosid Wolf Spider.

Prior to Mark’s arrival in South Africa it was customary to concentrate on the deep pools and to fish big wet flies like the Mrs Simpson downstream, often on a sinking line.  Mark fished the dry fly upstream on a floating line, concentrating rather on the runs, riffles and pocket water.

The Caribou Spider had a no tail and the parachute was constructed by tying the stripped quill into a loop which was held upright by a gallows tool. The hackle was wound laterally around this quill loop, the feather tip was then threaded through the loop and the quill was pulled to tighten the loop around the feather, leaving the tip of the feather pointing forward. Later commercial versions saw the hackle feather wound around a post of red chenille which made it easier to follow on the water and a hackle fibre tail was added. It floats like a cork, is easy to follow in the most boisterous of currents and has proved successful for half a century Mark was born on Christmas day 1907 in Stillington, Yorkshire but grew up on a farm in the nearby town of Pickering where he fished for trout and salmon. His parents reluctantly conceded to his decision to choose music rather than farming as a career. The outbreak of WWII interrupted his musical studies and he saw action at Dunkirk and in the subsequent Normandy campaign. After the war, while doing guard duty at the Tower of London, he met a South African woman, Eileen Watkins, who was a friend of the family of the Officer Commanding the Tower and who introduced them.

For South African fly fishers it was a fortuitous romance. The couple left for South Africa in 1951 after Mark had been offered a position as a double bass player with the Johannesburg Symphony Orchestra. Ten years later he took a transfer to the Cape Town Symphony Orchestra. Mark joined the Cape Piscatorial Society, and discovered the Smalblaar which, in issue number 53 of the CPS magazine, Piscator, he described as a “delightful little river”.

Perhaps his most significant role was as mentor to a new generation of CPS Young Turks who were chafing against a decades-old regimen of tactics prescribed by the luminaries of the day such as Sydney Hey and Fred Bowker (Kingfisher), the manipulated wet fly, often based on gaudy salmon patterns and fished under tension across or  downstream. 

One of them was Tom Sutcliffe. It was only when he was interviewed for the DVD, A South African fly tying journey with Ed Herbst and friends that it was learned how Mark developed the fly to imitate the wolf spider which was common on the banks of the Holsloot and Smalblaar streams near Worcester and that it therefore did not have a tail. On the DVD Tom ties the modern version with a parachute post.

He described how Mackereth’s sister, who lived in Canada and was due to visit Mark and his wife in Cape Town, was asked to bring out any fly tying materials she could find. She brought with her a piece of caribou (reindeer) skin. It spins beautifully and Mark combined a spun and clipped body of caribou with a parachute hackle wound around the feather’s looped quill. Mark apparently said at the time that the inspiration for the fly was American – possibly the original Rat Faced McDougal with grizzly hackle tip wings.

Tom recalls “Mark’s quest for the ultimate, wide, glossy and cleanly barbed free-range cock hackle was insatiable. 

“During his time in Johannesburg he befriended Leo Rosettenstein, then owner of the iconic hunting and fishing shop, Arms and Ammunition located in Bree Street in the city centre. One night after dinner at Leo’s house, Leo mentioned to Mark that he had a small collection of game cocks that he used for hackle. Mark insisted on seeing them there and then. Armed with a torch, Leo showed him a few birds roosting in a peach tree. In a flash Mark grabbed the best-looking fowl by its feet and marched it inside where he divested it of a heap of its prime neck hackles. This story was related to me by Leo himself.

“Mark and I frequently fished the Holsloot River and along the road we passed close by a number of farms. We often stopped at Gevonden just before Rawsonville for, as Mark put it, ‘a little inspection’. Folk would be going about their business around their cottages, but when Mark stepped out of the car he was instantly recognised as the feather man’. The farm yard would erupt into a cacophony of screeching roosters as men, women and children chased the better birds Mark pointed out, the red, ginger and white game cocks, but only the ones with the longer spurs. He’d take envelopes and a pair of scissors from his shirt pocket and in five minutes he’d snipped off the best of the neck feathers and handed over a rand or two. His parting shot was often, ‘I will be back’. I’d see them in the rear view mirror as we left, staring incredulously at the money they had just earned for a couple of feathers – and no doubt hoping he would be back!”

(Left) Mark Mackereth on the Smalblaar fishing his favourite Pezon & Michel split cane rod and (right) with John Beams another of SAs legendary flyfishers.

He was recognised as a consummate expert steeped in the tradition of gentlemanly conduct on the water, coupled with a deep respect and appreciation of nature and living things.  He was only too willing to share his vast, intuitive knowledge and techniques.

It is said that he will be remembered forever for his gentle dexterity and control of his split cane rod, an irresistible presentation of the fly, adjusting his cast for any situation, gently coiling the fly line in the palm of his hand and playing and landing the fish. 

An entry in Piscator, journal of the Cape Piscatorial Society dated 29 November 1974 aptly sums up this fly and its creator: “Smalblaar – Boundary to weir pool. Eight rainbows. One of 1lb, two of 12 oz. and five of about 8 oz. on a much used Caribou Spider not changed although bitten by very many undersize fish.”

Fifty years later three fly fishers, Fred Steynberg in Rhodes in the North Eastern Cape, Leonard Flemming in Stellenbosch and Peter Brigg in Durban developed their own patterns after realising that wolf spiders are taken avidly by trout.

But Mark Mackereth was the first. His role in closing a chapter on the past, popularising the upstream dry fly and in inspiring a new generation of fly fishers who were, in their own right,  to impact massively on the evolution of South African fly fishing and fly tying, deserves recognition. His ashes were scattered on his beloved Smalblaar stream.

As Pieter Cronje fellow member of the Cape Piscatorial Society put it: “Such a mentor comes but once in a lifetime.”

FRED STEYNBERG – FRED’S WOLF SPIDER

Fred says –

“This imitation of the wolf spider combines the movement and seductive speckling of a parachute partridge hackle, with the gleam of a black or blue dun hackle tied beneath it to strengthen and support it. The idea of a small, stiff rooster hackle behind a bigger one is attributed to Dr William Baigent of Northallerton in England who died in 1935 aged 71. Baigent started using these flies around 1875 on Yorkshire streams and his idea was to create an illusion of movement.

“The term halo hackle was used as far back as in the November 1984 issue of the British magazine, Trout Fisherman. It was in an article by John Ketley called, “Tyings to Test a Saint”. Ketley had modified Baigent’s idea by winding the smaller hackle through the bigger one to reinforce it. 

“The black Wapsi body – which has a tortoise-shell shape – is tied as an extended body at the bend of size 14 to 16 fine wire sedge hook such as the Tiemco 206 BL, the Grip 14723 BL, the Gamakatsu C13U or the Varivas IWI T-2000 Terrestrial. To make the fly more visible a white or brightly-colored post is tied in slightly behind the hook eye to provide the support for the partridge and dun rooster hackles which will be wound around it, parachute style. This stands out and contrasts nicely with the black foam behind it.  I use translucent ethafoam packaging material although, it could substituted for a brighter material. The thorax of the spider is lightly dubbed with black or brown CDC dubbing to add to the buoyancy of the fly. A black or dark dun cock under hackle, is first tied in around the post. This hackle should be sparse – no more than two wraps – and the fibres should be just longer than the gape measurement of the hook.

“The legs of the spider are imitated with a brown Hungarian Partridge hackle tied in by the butt and sparsely wrapped with a single turn around the base of the post and it is necessary to tie it in with the shiny side of the feather facing upwards so that the hackle tips droop enticingly into the water. The legs should be about 15 to 20mm long. 

“The most salient feature of this pattern is a parachute halo hackle which combines a small rooster hackle beneath and supporting a partridge hackle, a development which I attribute to Tom Sutcliffe.”

Dressing

Hook – Sizes 14 – 16 Grip light wire, up eye sedge hook

Thread – 8/0 Black

Body – Wapsi B12S Foam Spider body

Thorax – Black CDC dubbing

Wingpost – Ethafoam

Hackle – Blue dun or black rooster hackle tied in at the base of the post followed by a Hungarian Partridge feather above it.

LEONARD FLEMMING – LEONARD’S WOLF SPIDER

Leonard says –

“I recall an incident while fishing a small Cape stream during the late season.  Settled next to a decent pool I found myself fumbling in my fly box after a 10 inch rainbow had refused my fly.  After selecting a fly, I watched the pale figure of the trout glide to and fro in the current while tying the fly to my tippet.  A movement to the right of the inlet caught my eye and almost instantly the trout leapt clear of the water and grabbed in mid- air a long-jawed water spider that was dangling by its silken thread from a streamside bush.

After first observing a trout take a wolf spider, I came up with an imitation that I found to be exceptional and equally successful on streams throughout the country.

“This Wolf Spider pattern suits my criteria of a good dry fly; it sits low in the water (due to the parachute), yet it drifts well and is sufficiently buoyant to serve as an indicator fly with a nymph suspended beneath it. It is highly visible on the water and imitates the natural well, but also everything in general. While some arachnid imitations utilise rubber legs, I find that pheasant tail is a better choice because they hold their shape and do not clump together.”

Dressing

Hook – Grip dry fly 11011BL, size16

Thread – 14/0 Gordon Griffiths Sheer, black

Post – Egyptian goose chest feather fibres or white yarn

Abdomen – Black foam covered with thin layer of hare’s ear dubbing, with Egyptian goose (or partridge) chest feather fibres folded over the top (tied in first, at the bend of the hook)

Legs – Eight pheasant tail fibres tied behind and in front of the parachute post with two pairs each side facing backwards and forwards, respectively

Hackle – One grizzly hackle (wrapped in first) and one brown hackle. (Wet the base of the post with varnish before spinning the hackle around the post).

 PETER BRIGG – PETE’S SPIDER

Anatomically, the wolf spiders, Lycosidae, like most spiders, are fused into two sections, the cephalothorax and abdomen, and joined by a small, cylindrical pedicel. They are air-breathing and unlike other insects they do not have antennae and no muscles in their eight legs which are operated instead by hydraulic pressure; pretty neat, but that is one aspect you won’t need to imitate. They rank seventh in total species diversity among all other groups of organisms and are found worldwide except in Antarctica. They have become established in nearly every ecological niche around the globe with the exception of air and sea.

All of this got me thinking about creating a spider pattern of my own using as a foundation the main trigger features of Leonard’s original Wolf Spider. It is one insect that doesn’t take a lot to imitate.  And, I have found that the fish are not particularly fussy about size, number and length of the appendages. In fact it seems that the bigger is better and the longer the legs, the more attractive they are to our piscatorial friends. 

What I wanted was a fly that would be simple to tie, durable, float well and low on the surface, have a distinctive profile and be recognisable through familiarity as something that exists in stream environments, something that has been eaten and enjoyed before. My first attempts were a bit messy and quickly lost their shape. Being such an important element of the design, it was back to the drawing board.

Pete’s Spider is also a good searching pattern when the fish are being less than cooperative. Importantly though, it has an easily recognisable prey profile and can be effectively fished anywhere on the stream, although experience shows that drifting the fly along the edges of the banks and below over-hanging vegetation where they are most likely to first end up on the water brings the greatest success. It is also worthwhile to twitch the rod tip occasionally and skate the fly over the surface to imitate the behavior of another fairly common aquatic species of spider (Dolomedes) found in our waters. They feed by sensing vibrations of struggling prey and chasing after it by running across the water.

In discussion with Tom Sutcliffe about the history of the Wolf Spider patterns in South Africa he suggested my variation be called “Pete’s Spider”. I rather liked the name and so it has subsequently become known.

Dressing

Hook – Grip 11011 BL size 14 -16

Thread – Gordon Griffiths 14/0 Sheer black

Abdomen – 2 mm thick black or tan foam strip 3 to 4mm wide to suit fly size

Under-body – Peacock herl

Legs – Pheasant tail fibres (two pairs for each of the front and back legs)

Post – White Antron, Zlon or foam

Hackle – Ginger with longish fibres

In his milestone book, The Dry Fly – New Angles (Globe Pequot Press, 2001), Gary LaFontaine wrote that a trout holding in deep water and strong currents would be most tempted to rise to a ‘wide’ fly. To justify the expenditure of energy it also required a ‘big chunk’ i.e. a food item that would provide a lot of calories and a ‘sitting duck’ i.e. a food item that looked vulnerable and was not likely to escape. These four wolf spider imitations from Mackereth, Steynberg, Flemming and myself clearly possess these triggers.

My latest version. I have done away with the pheasant tail front legs and replaced them with squirrel tail hair over the hook eye in a fan shape. It has proved to be far more durable, but just as effective as the original.

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE GLEN NESBITT

We’d arrived in Rhodes for the 2018 annual Trout Festival in torrential rain below pewter skies and pea soup mist in the passes. The rivers were over their banks and muddy, the fishing prospects were slim to nil. We hung on the hope that in the Highlands as soon as the rain holds up, with the porous nature of the geology, the rivers fine off quickly and begin to clear within a day or two.

Later in the day the pub at Walkerbouts was, not unexpectedly, a hive activity with stranded flyfishers. Over a couple of beers, Tony Kietzman, veteran local fly fishing guide through a cloud of pipe smoke, asked, “have you ever fished the Glen Nesbitt, a tributary of the Bokspruit? I replied that although I recalled a vague reference to it sometime on a previous visit, I hadn’t. “I think it’s the kind of small stream you’ll like, and in these conditions it drains quickly and is seldom discoloured”, he said. 

It didn’t need much more thought except to make plans with Ken Quick for an early breakfast and the 40 minute dirt road drive to the entry point just beyond the old Bothwell farmhouse on the road up to Gateshead. Quinten Austin and his son Cuan joined us, but would fish downstream to the Bokspruit confluence. Our first impression of what we could see looking upstream from the bridge, was that we weren’t sure if Tony’s convincing description of the stream was quite as he had described. So we hung over the bridge as flyfishers do and stared into the water rushing below, why I don’t know, but probably for the same reason you kick the tyres of a new car. 

It was pointless turning back in search of other water so Ken and I worked our way upstream through the first steep cascading 300m section pricking a couple of small fish straight away. At the first bend the character changed and the gradient eased into a beautiful upland freestone stream, clean except for the deeper water that had a slight opaqueness, a perfect mix of water types that went on throughout the day as we fished higher. The kind of water I get excited about – Tony’s predictions were right.

At a larger pool above the first bend we found the sweet spot of the stream. After netting a handful of small trout each, Ken took a solid rainbow of about 16 inches hard up against the left undercut bank Soon after I was surprised by a pretty 14 incher out of a tiny pocket not much bigger than your average hand basin. It sipped in my lightly weighted #18 soft hackle drifting below a high floating hopper. Getting fish of this size out of such a small stream I’m always glad to have a witness to back up the story. Even then I notice the odd cocked eyebrow suggesting some suspicion of collaboration. But, these are also the ones that usually come around a little later to ask for more information – truth be told I have learnt not to divulge too much. My advice usually is, go and make your own discoveries because every day out is full it’s own little surprises, and no two are alike.

Throughout the morning we continued to take fish in fits and starts, all heavily spotted wild rainbows mostly between 8 and 10 inches and just before stopping for lunch, one or two plump fish of around 12 inches. 

We shared our experiences over a bite to eat after having covered probably no more than a third of the stream to its source. The weather was changing again, it looked like rain coming in from the west so we made the call to give it best and made our way back downstream. I’d spent enough time with Ken to conclude that I couldn’t have wished for a better companion,  a skilled flyfisher, humble, interesting conversation and an all round good guy.

Later, back in the pub at Walkerbouts, Tony was surprised to hear of the number of fish and size because of the devastation of the previous years drought that left the stream at the point where it had all but stopped flowing. It showed the resilience of these systems to restore themselves, in particular those in the higher reaches in the more natural environments where the human and agricultural impacts are minimal.

I have been back to the Glen Nesbit on subsequent visits to the area one being a particularly notable day with the three known as the ‘A Team’, Woz, Rus and Wally, but that’s another story about the ‘slapit’ technique that I’ll leave for another time. 

I have never been disappointed fishing this stream, but I haven’t been able to find Ken’s 16 incher again. I’ll keep trying until I reach the source of this delightful stream where the first trickle seeps out of the mountains.

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

FISHING SMALL STREAMS

The pursuit of wild mountain trout leads to some of the most beautiful, uncluttered, crystalline places this country has to offer, unspoiled natural environments, places where the air and water is clean, where eagles soar high in wide skies, where the only sounds and smells are natufres own. Here a rudimentary sense of connection to the big wild earth will creep into awareness, where the seeds of a relationship with the natural world will flourish – these inspiring places are also uncompromising, where man is the intruder, where the earth works its magic …. if you let it in, it will run deep in your soul.

My fishing story goes back as long as I can remember to the earliest worm plunking, bait lobbing and sinker flinging days with my father. But it changed when I first cut my fly fishing teeth as a young boy on the rivers of the Eastern Cape under the guidance of a close family friend, Uncle Lake. However, my interest in small streams was later fueled during my hiking days in the Drakensberg Mountains and inspired by people like Dr.Tom Sutcliffe, Ed Herbst, and the small band of close friends that I have fished with.

I am fairly often asked about my experiences fishing small streams. What follows is my take on some of the fundamentals that I subscribe to. They have helped me achieve a degree of competence, but there is always room for improvement – one is never too old to learn.

First off, I don’t pretend to be some kind of expert on the subject and I also don’t pretend to know it all, so what can I offer? I can tell you about those things that have worked for me, and those that haven’t. I can tell you about the factors that I consider important to fishing these waters well, understanding the conditions and developing the knowledge and skills – based on my years fishing the headwater streams – its not rocket science. I don’t bother with being overly technical as Thomas McGuane put it in his book “The Longest Silence” when referring to some who become pedantic about the smallest details concerning themselves about fractions of millimetres and grams, “don’t let the tail wag the dog”. Having said that and before I’m hung, drawn and quartered, I do believe that it’s a case of each to his or her own.

To understand the context of my comments they are based on what I have learnt from others and practical experience much of it by trial and error – I watched, listened and asked questions, and spent a lot of time on the water experimenting with what I’d learnt and refining techniques. Although I had started fly fishing many years before, my interest in small streams took off sometime in the early 1980s. My classroom were my home waters of the KZN Drakensberg Mountains, but also the streams of the Eastern and North Eastern Cape Highlands. I’ve heard it said that you get good after 10 000 hours – the “tipping point” principle. I may have done the hours, but whether I’ve reached the tipping point is debatable, the learning is ongoing.

I’m talking here about the tributaries, sometimes the tributaries of the tributaries of the larger well-known rivers. These are the thin blue threads in the tapestry of the back country topographical map following the deep valleys, through gorges and below towering peaks – here the contours are stacked closely together.  These clear, cold freestone streams, perhaps creeks are a better description, that rush and tumble over riffles, through pockets, cascades and the occasional deeper run or pool are in places of natural beauty. The trout are wild and any 12-inch fish is cause for celebration.  The occasional 14 incher or rare specimen above this, is considered a trophy. Author John Gierach pretty much nailed it when he said, “Your stature as a flyfisher isn’t determined by how big a trout you can catch , but by how small a trout you can catch without being disappointed, and, of course, without losing the faith that there is a bigger one in there.’

There is an infectious charm about the trout in these streams, but they can be difficult to understand at times and just when you think you are beginning to crack the code, they have the habit of proving you wrong. Almost everything you do in these waters will be at close quarters – its a given that you are going to stand out as Gulliver did in Lilliput . The trout have a spooky streak and a propensity to bolt for cover at the first sign of anything weird looming over them. Then, at other times they display a degree of innocence and become raspy and aggressive – grabby feeders with a kind of unpredictable split personality, not unlike some of us humans. However, it’s wise in these diminutive finely balanced systems, where the water is clear and the bottom never very far away, to relax, slow down, plan your approach and always use the stealth of a stalking heron – caution will get you within casting range.

I like to focus on doing the basics right, keeping it simple and fishing as well as I can, or as the trout will allow me. I have selected some of what I believe to be the aspects that should make your experience less frustrating, enjoyable and successful. However, it’s not an exhaustive list of the do’s and dont’s.

I have a modest library of books, many covering the technical aspects of fly fishing, and rivers in particular. Among some of those that are dog-eared and well-worn for the solid information they contain – ’Presentation’ by Gary Borger, ‘The Dry Fly’ by Gary LaFontaine as well as the writings of Ed Engle and Bob Wyatt and others. But it must be said that there is no substitute for honing ones skills than time spent on the water and learning from others.

Rods. I have a preference for slower, softer actioned rods on the mountain streams. They range from 0wt to 3wt and in length 7’0” to 8’9” both graphite and glass fibre.  However, my absolute favourite is a hand-crafted Stephen Boshoff 3/4wt bamboo rod based on a Paul Young Midge taper. I would ideally suggest that a 2wt is perfect for all conditions on small streams, but if the budget is tight, I’d recommend a 3wt in the range 7’6″ to 8’6″ with a forgiving, sensitive action. I say this because if you are limited to a single rod, it will give you the versatility to fish tiny streams but also the larger rivers.

Reels. For my stream rods I use reels with click and pawl systems and are really only there to hold line. In these conditions reels are less important than the rod and line.

Lines. A floating line is all you will need. I use both weight forward and double taper, but my preference for up close and fine casting are the weight forward lines. The one advantage of the double taper line is that you can turn it around if the front section is worn or damaged – in effect two lines for the price of one. Rods and lines are a personal choice of the flyfisher and what suits his or her casting style. My advice before parting with your hard-earned money, is to try different combinations and find something that you feel comfortable with and that suits your casting style.

Leaders and tippets are getting down to the business end.  I’ve been through the phase of meticulously hand-tied leaders, but I now use the commercially available tapered monofilament leaders. On these streams because you are constantly moving through the variations of water types, I settle for a couple of combinations that cover just about all without having to be constantly changing the set up. My two go to set-ups are in the range 9 to 12ft 4X leader with a 3 to 4ft 6X tippet. These will satisfy most conditions and if necessary, can be shortened or lengthened. For example when I’m fishing micro flies or the fish are being picky in thin, clear conditions, a longer length of 7X tippet may be preferable or in windy conditions it can be shortened. Having recently been converted, I’m now using a 2mm tippet ring attached on the end of the leader instead of the Perfection loop I have always used. I find that the ring not only extends the life of the leader, but makes it quick and easy to add or change the tippet.

Furled leaders – you are either a fan or not. I happen to be a fan for their softness, flexibility and accuracy and switch between furled and monofilament leaders  depending on conditions. Local artist and craftsman, Marcel Terblanche makes the best I have used – they also outlast monofilament leaders.

Reading the water. To begin with, let me say that the trout’s basic instincts focus on survival – shelter, feeding and reproduction.  In other words, inherited instincts and learnt-by-experience stuff.  Things like what to eat, what not to eat and how not to get eaten.  Then, for a certain period once a year, their hormones scramble everything in that pea size brain or theirs and, to the exclusion of almost all else, they concentrate on reproduction and ensuring the perpetuation of the species.  The point I make is that if they need to store and recall information to do with survival then they are pretty sharp.  The trout is usually way ahead of any flyfisher in this regard, so I’m serious when I talk of the importance of things like slowing down, observation, stalking and careful presentation.  Remember these fundamentals, because they will help you to decide on an appropriate approach and presentation.  For example, understanding the different rise forms, will enable you to determine things like where the trout are, whether they are feeding or not and what they are likely to be feeding on. It will help with the choice of fly. Think like a fish, understand its needs, anticipate its responses and know what your fly is doing in the drift.

I usually wait until I’m at the stream before lining my rod and deciding on the fly. Stand back from the stream while you do this keeping one eye on the water. Given time the stream will offer up clues to help with your initial decision. It may be rising fish taking emergers in the meniscus or adult insects on the surface, terrestrials drifting on the current, a shadow or flash of colour below the surface indicating the fish are feeding on nymphs or rising emegers. Keen observation is a crucial factor and will give you all the information you need to fish the stream properly. Look for the potential holding and feeding lies –  structure, undercuts, current seams. Don’t be in a hurry to get to the fish rising at the head of the run, there may be a better fish holding in the tail, if you spook it there is a good chance it will rush through the run putting everyone on edge and you’ll be left standing at the starting gate. Fish all the water slowly and stealthily working your way up. If you do it properly the riser will be waiting for you when you get within range.

Stealth. For these streams I’m talking about a high degree of stealth, about sliding into the situation with a minimal amount of disturbance. It’s like hunting — a calculated approach made up of a combination of elements such as the stalk, the cast, the drift and strike.  Drab coloured clothing, not necessarily full camo, is recommended and as John Gierach put it,”I leave the white straw cowboy hat and blaze orange hunting shirt at home when I’m going out to fish a small stream.” White and bright colours should be used back home for weddings and parties. Stealth, short casts and a careful presentation of the fly are important – take time to read the water, plan your approach, slow down, conceal yourself by breaking up your profile using natural features and bank-side vegetation and keep your shadow off the water and your rod tip low.  Forget about dignity, it’s unlikely anyone will be watching so get with the programme and start sneaking around like a gnome.

Planning your approach ahead of making the presentation.  I have said it before but let me repeat it, fish all the water from the tail of the pool with short manageable casts, cover the water ahead of you. Then move upstream by taking a few cautious steps and repeat the process. These enigmatic little trout just don’t seem to get used to anything unusual – you need to be thinking about this constantly and managing your actions accordingly.  Keep concentrating on what you are doing and change your tactics if necessary.  Be ready to respond to the trout’s behaviour at any given time.  Another suggestion is that if you have to change flies or tippet, sit down to do it, preferably in a concealed position. Your imposing and unfamiliar shape as well as your movements will put the wind up the trout as sure as the sun will rise in the east again tomorrow.  Once you have covered the likely areas or disturbed a run, rest it for 10 to 15 minutes and try again or move on to the next.  On streams it’s quite often only the first cast that counts certainly the first cast is your best chance at a rising fish — after that, other than the village idiot, you will find the rest of the trout stuck like gum to the pavement and impossible to move.  You can always return to try again later. I mentioned concentration, it’s worth taking a break every so often, have a snack and enjoy the view. Refreshed, you will be good to go and your concentration levels will be reset.

The places you will find trout are positions where there are changes in structure, changes in depth and changes in currents.  Concentrate on these spots. In small streams trout are often where you least expect them. If the trout are not showing themselves, identify the prime holding spots.  Search the bank undercuts, eddies, reverse flows and any quieter water.  Drift your fly in front of and behind obstructions.  Cover the edges of the lanes of current, where the water cascades into the head of the run and don’t overlook the shallow areas and riffles before moving on.  A good spot to target is where two lanes of current meet.  A line of debris or foam easily identifies these areas that serve as a natural food conveyer, the trout know it and watch these for easy pickings.

Every so often you come across that rare flyfisher that possess some kind of sixth sense – what looks like extrasensory perception, but isn’t, nor is it knowledge as we understand it. But, without getting all mystical about it, they have the irksome habit of being able to take fish out of a pool you have just walked through, catching them in seemingly impossible places and knowing without any of the usual signs, that a trout has mouthed the fly – as if their neural synapses are trained to detect another intelligence.

Spotting fish. Concentrate, look through the water rather than at it.  Shield your eyes from glare, using both hands cupped around your cap if necessary. Move your head from side to side to get different angles of view on the water Once the bottom structure and features become clearer, visually search for anything that changes or moves against the background, it may be a shadow or a flash of colour.  You will find that once you have fixed a position to focus on, spotting the fish will become easier — your eyes will stop scanning the wider picture as they are instinctively inclined to do and you will begin to pick up on the subtleties of unusual movement, shadow and colour.

 

Being a little higher helps to achieve a steeper angle of view, which will reduce reflection and glare.  However, this is a double-edged sword because it also makes it easier for the fish to see you.  As I have stressed before, it’s critical to keep a low profile, so if you do move higher, try to do it in a concealed position.  We mustn’t forget the benefits of polarised sunglasses. They are a must – apart from eye protection, they are a considerable help with reducing extraneous glare.

Wading is to enter the world of the trout.  It’s like a spiritual form of aqua-aerobics.  There is a kind of welcoming feeling about the tug of the current around one’s legs and the cold water against the skin that concentrates the mind and makes one feel more a part of the fish’s environment.  And when you feel right, you fish better — at least, that’s my take on it and confidence does help. But, there is so much that can go wrong with your good intentions for sneaking up on fish when wading, that ideally, in theory, it is probably preferable to stay out of the water, but in reality, that’s impossible.

Remember, you are fishing at close quarters and you are going to be on top of the trout most of the time.  They will see and hear you easily, so don’t splash around. You will need to tread carefully, easing yourself into the water — the slow determination of a snail comes to mind.  Purely from a practical point of view, I prefer to wade in a pair of lightweight, quick drying, long pants rather than having to worry about ripping an expensive pair of waders — something that can happen easily in the mountains.

Once you are in the water, act like the snail I’ve mentioned.  Take small deliberate steps, edge your way along and use more of a kind of sliding shuffle, feeling each foothold carefully before shifting your weight.  You just have to be steady and balanced before you cast. Whatever you do, don’t step and cast at the same time, this can be a recipe for disaster.

Casting. When it comes to casting , if you are anything like me, seek the help of someone proficient at it who can teach you two of the most important elements of stream fishing: eliminating false casting and how to put slack into the leader as the fly lands. There are a variety of casts as well as aerial off and on the water mending techniques that will help with throwing curves into the leader and line to counteract that nemesis of all river flyfishers, drag.  Im not getting into the complexity of describing the merits and when to use them, but the two useful ones that come to mind are the Pile and Tuck casts. There are enough books around on casting techniques to fill the village library, but all of this literature — no matter how graphic the explanations — is no substitute for hands-on instruction.  It doesn’t end there, you need to practice, practice and practice some more, preferably on the river.

Today’s modern flyfisher is, for whatever reason, geared to distance casting and sometimes even his prowess is judged on it. Forget it because long casts over 30ft on small streams are not that efficient — there is a good chance the line will land badly and it  is a given that it will lie across a number of lanes of current so drag is going to be difficult, probably impossible, to prevent.  If you get refusals it may be micro drag, lengthen the tippet. When nymphing watch the fly line and the leader in the drift. Keep an eye out for twitches, but also for the fly line slowing in the drift, even very marginally – it’s more than likely a trout mouthing the fly. Accuracy is going to be compromised with long casts – use the shortest cast that will get the job done and get good at fishing long leaders because you are going need them.

The roll cast is particularly effective on this type of water and avoids the need for false casting.  It helps especially in tight situations and when there is no room for a back cast.

A low side-arm cast is a useful tool not just to conceal rod movement, flash and shadow, but it helps with casting into a downstream wind.

High-sticking is something that will serve you well fishing confined pocket water, fast flowing sections and over shallow rapids, which is most of the time on these streams.  After the cast, lift the rod tip high, keeping just the leader or part of it on the water.  Follow the drift of the dry fly or nymph with the rod tip and you will get a good drag free drift.  In this way you will also avoid having the current pull the belly of the line at a different speed to the leader and fly.

Movement, contrast and vulnerability are key elements of presentation – “Giving life to the fly”. By lifting and lowering or twitching the rod tip you can impart movement to the fly, making it act and appear different to all the other bits-n-pieces drifting past.  Movement — and I’m talking about small twitches, not stripping the fly across the surface will, in most cases, attract the attention of the trout.  Remember, trout are well-evolved predators that have to find food in a competitive environment, so any imitation drifting naturally with recognisable features, will more than likely be inspected closely.  After pricking the curiosity of the trout, you need to persuade it to take the final step — movement usually provides the trigger especially while the aquatic insects are in the surface film and trapped in the meniscus trying to rid themselves of their shuck as they emerge. The same applies to terrestrial insects attempting to swim to the safety of terra firma.

What do the trout see – recognisable features, profile, size, maybe colour, legs, feelers and wings. You need to think of this when tying imitations of the aquatic and terrestrial insects. These are the elements that separate it from all the inanimate bits-n-pieces floating past. Trout base their decisions on seeing something that looks familiar, something that they have eaten and enjoyed before – in short, something buggy. Add movement to the recipe and you will help the trout to make up its mind through illusion and deception. As the late Lee Wulff so succinctly summed it up in this context, “Movement is life”. And, if looks alive, it’s probably good enough to eat.

Catch and release is supported by the majority of flyfishers today and many riparian owners are recognising the benefits of making it one of their rules.  It’s a practice I subscribe to and encourage, but I wouldn’t be honest if I did not admit to taking a few trout for the pan when the rules allow it, especially when camping out in the mountains. I do carry a small stream net, not so much that I need it, but because it’s useful for releasing the fish more safety and if I’m wanting to get a photograph. I keep the fish in the net, submerged, until I’m ready to photograph it minimising its time out of the water for just a few seconds.

Whatever you do, don’t dump them on the bank until you have organised your camera because apart from damage and infection to their sensitive skin, being out of water for any length of time will more than likely result in them turning belly up when you are back home enjoying a cold one.

Flies and fly-tying. There are literally thousands of flies to choose from imitating the natural aquatic and terrestrial insects. You don’t need to know the Latin names of them all, unless you want to – it’s not going to help you catch more fish.  However, flyfishers should be able to identify the difference between the insects, what they are and the various stages of their life cycle. It will ultimately help in design and choice of fly.  The fly is the most important part of the web of illusion and deceit, designed to lure the wily trout into accepting a chemically sharpened piece of steel covered in feathers and fur. The creatures in our waterways come down to a handful of small insects.  I favour a few generic patterns that cover a range of the naturals and tied with soft, flexible and barred materials, with a just touch of flash to reflect light on some, that help to create or give the illusion of movement in the water – simulating life.

The insight gained from a study of the recognisable features of the insects and developing an understanding of their habits, will enable the flyfisher to create reasonable representations.  Whilst some fly-tyers aspire to exact imitations and I admire their creative ability and skills, it is not necessarily the recipe for success — the fly should rather be simple in design using the principle always of ‘form follows function’, and representative in general shape with distinguishing features, colour and size. Generally, sizes 14 and 16s are my go-to sizes all barbless, but for when they are needed, a size 12 size  or at the other end, 18s down to 22s can make a difference. I recall reading somewhere that flies should look a little like everything, but not exactly like anything. In other words, a bug of sorts.

I favour starting with a dry fly because as I’ve said the trout in the fine, clear waters of our streams are seldom shy about rising to take flies drifting on the surface .  I think this has a lot to do with the fact that in these waters’ food is a little scarce and competition is fierce.  The trout will have a close look at anything resembling a bug, even if it means rising to the surface which, in these streams, is never that far away.

Micro Flies #18 to#22

Dry flies and emergers are, without question, my favourites. Dries like the Mayfly Spinner, Adams with both parachute and conventional hackles. RAB and Para-RAB, Elk Hair Caddis, Griffiths Gnat , soft-hackle spiders and Klinkhamers. I like them to float low on the surface, preferably in the surface film and for this I have a preference for parachute styled flies and sometimes trim the flies with conventional dry fly hackles below the shank to achieve this.  It is while they’re in this state that the naturals are at their most vulnerable — as they emerge from their nymphal shuck and attempt to free themselves from the tension of the meniscus.  The trout know this and watch for the easier pickings of struggling insects rather than those already on the surface ready to fly.

Terrestrials like the Wolf Spider, beetles, hoppers and ants have a permanent spot in my fly box. All of these flies display silhouettes that are likely to provoke a response from the trout based on instinct and familiarity with ever-present food forms. Practical experience locally, shows that terrestrials fished sub-surface are often more effective than their high floating counterparts.  I never leave for the mountains without both floating and sinking versions of the same flies.

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I treat the dry flies soon after tying with Watershed, but carry Loon Aquel or Lochsa on the stream for quick application if additional floatant is needed.

Nymphs have a place in my fly box, but are limited to just a few in different weights and sizes like the Gold Ribbed Hares Ear with a red collar (the Rooinek), Flashback, PTN and Zak. I’ve said it often that all you really need is a well tied Zak. It is one of the best representative imitations of almost all of the nymphs found in our streams. For sink rate and swimming flies in fast water and deeper holes consider flies like the Perdigon and GUN.

The flies I’ve included are not an exhaustive list of flies that I use, simply because I’m constantly attempting new patterns or experimenting with modifying old patterns, I suppose in the hope that one day I might stumble upon the silver bullet, the perfect fly — an unlikely event considering the fickleness of trout.

And, when all else fails 

Ditch the load. Some years ago I ditched the traditional fly vest that had enough pocket space to include the kitchen sink. There were things in there that I didn’t know I had or what they were intended for. I now use a Filson belt pack for the essentials like a single fly box, preferably watertight, a couple of spools of tippet, floatant, weighted putty and strike indicator yarn. Attached to the strap of my small backpack I attach forceps, nippers and a New Zealand indicator tool.  Then I have a small 10L water resistant backpack for a few extras – spare tippet, leaders, tippet rings and small Leatherman. There is enough space for a camera, snacks and drinks as well as a light rain jacket and a few first aid items. I’d suggest you consider including an amadou patch, a C&F splicing and knot tool, it makes life easy. I also carry a small tub of Loon Bio-strike putty that I use occasionally when I need a quick indicator or as a sighter for micro flies.

I have only just scratched the surface of a subject with many variations and techniques, but hope that you will find my thoughts useful when you’re next on a small stream or river somewhere.  In my view, one of the most absorbing and fascinating aspects of this wonderful sport of ours is that it allows for so much flexibility based on your own streamside experiences and the insights gained.  My advice, for what it’s worth, is stick to what is simply a common sense, no frills approach, but remain open minded and be creative.  The key elements are to watch and take note of what’s going on in and around the stream, relax and slow down, think about what approach to use, about fly choice and decide on the type of presentation.  Through trial and error you will, over time, develop the necessary experience and skill.

My thanks to Pieter Taljaard for his input and Tom Sutcliffe for reading this piece at my request and for sharing his wisdom and experience – for the discussion and adding value to my thoughts on small stream fly fishing. He finished by saying that he and Billy de Jong had shared a mantra while fishing in the North Eastern Cape many years ago, “Cast short, watch the water, watch the tippet, watch the fly, ALL IN ONE!”.

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

 

THE MTSHEZANA

If there is any good that has come out of being confined to our homes because of the Covid pandemic, it has been time to get through those things that have been on the to-do list for awhile. Yesterday it was sorting through thousands of digital images, some, reminders of long forgotten fishing outings. 

Here is one, I’ll record as I recall it ……

It was 10 years ago when over a couple of seasons, I’d set myself a goal to explore a number of small feeders streams of the better known rivers – tiny streams that are either ignored or seldom fished. The Mtshezana, a tributary of the Bushmans River at Giants Castle is one. Krister, a Swedish friend who was visiting South Africa at the time. joined me for the day. 

An early morning dash up the ribbon of tar to Giants Castle, a grab-n-go cup of questionable fuel stop coffee and we were stringing our rods at the confluence of the Bushmans and the Mtshezana by 7.30am – there were fish rising – a good sign. The path up to Champagne Pools is well worn, but it’s here where the trail peters out. I wanted to go on and explore the higher reaches, beyond where most venture and new water for me.

It took nearly forty minutes of scrambling through long grass, brush, over and around boulders before the first cast where the turquoise water sluiced out over bedrock into a deeper, good looking pool. Fishing hard from here we moved upstream with little reward other than a couple of eight inchers on small Klinkies – it was slow going in water that showed so much promise. 

By mid-morning we’d covered no more than the best part of a kilometre, across the stream on the right bank  a beautiful, timeless primeval forest – shades of verdant greens, the trees old, twisted and gnarled, boulders covered in glistening moss and lichen. Here the water rushed between boulders, over riffles and through small runs. There were signs of Caddis and a tiny, smokey Baetis Mayfly hatching – the odd trout began to move. Absorbed in the fishing the build-up of storm clouds had gone unnoticed until the first low rumble of thunder in the distance, there was an ominous bruised darkness out to the west. The air was still, atmospheric, even the hoppers and birds had gone quiet. I knew we’d have to turn back soon.

Then, Krister spotted them, three nice trout just below the plunge at the head of the run, one a little larger than we’d seen before. It was his cast – he crept and cast carefully, the caddis imitation landed too far to the left, the larger of the trout moved, watched the fly and then swallowed it with an unsuspicious innocence. A short fight and he lifted the astonished 12 inch brown, removed the fly and released it downstream.

The second fish was a repeat of the first, but smaller. As he slipped it back into the water, there was a frighteningly close flash of lightening and ear splitting crack of thunder. The storm was about to off load on us. Rods down we scrambled our way back downstream. The rain started, heavy icy drops, it poured, lightening flashed and the noise of thunder was deafening. We made it back to the safety of the vehicle – drenched and cold, our day was over.

The Mtshezana is a delightful little stream, it’s small brown trout are not plentiful displaying an innocence to suggest they hadn’t seen many flies and leaders – they had  a “eat anything” attitude.

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

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 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