FOR THE WANT OF A NAME

 

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

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

Pete’s Wolf Spider

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

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

 

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

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

 

FISHING ALONE

Do I fish alone? – yes, occasionally.

Do I enjoy it? – I do.

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

So why do I fish alone then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

THE ICONIC RAB

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

Tony Biggs and one of his original RABs

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom, Tony and Ed (photo – James Leach)

 

 

 

 

GUIDING AND THE ROADBLOCK

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

Catch you under the willow.

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

WALK, WADE AND FISH

In June last year I spent an evening with the Women in Waders – a Fireside Chat. The purpose was to expand their interest in river and stream flyfishing. The follow-up was to be a day on a stream for practical instruction – the fundamentals of river craft and to walk, wade and fish. It took almost a year to co-ordinate schedules, but it eventually happened on the 4th May this year.

To put it mildly it was a new experience for me – enjoyable and refreshing – the envy of all my fishing buddies. It was a far cry from what I’m used to with the bunch of testosterone charged males that I fish with. Apart from the fact that they were much better looking, everything for the day was perfectly planned, the lunch packs they provided were delicious (even an opportunistic baboon who in a blink of an eye, stole one out the truck, agreed) – I didn’t even miss my usual boiled eggs and egg and chutney sandwiches!  I discovered that they talk a lot, often all at the same time, there was plenty of banter, laughter and drinks were never more than an arms length away. There was an air of positivity, the energy was palpable, they are serious about the sport, but also don’t take things too seriously – they don’t like flyfishing, they love it and were keen to learn more. There was a moment of panic when Bridgitte chipped a finger nail.  To her relief nothing that the file on my leatherman couldn’t fix – calamity averted. 

Reflecting on the day on the Bushmans, or the ‘Bushies’  as they call it, I felt that perhaps I didn’t spend enough time explaining the basics. But then I also saw the collective glint in the six pairs of eyes staring back at me that suggested, “let’s go and fish” – so we did.

Is this where my fly should be?

Concentration

Fetching her favourite fly – Deeper and colder than she thought.

Sindi helping Lybdall to spot fish

I was struck with their casting abilities, no doubt gained from the time spent fishing stillwaters. There are however different techniques that they will need to perfect for the best results on rivers and streams. Although there was a lack of river experience amongst the group, it was clear that Linda and Sindi had fished rivers before. It is understandable that to begin with flyfishing can be about as patchy as those squares for the knee rugs that your grandmother used to crochet – proficiency will improve over time and each will find their own way of understanding and achieving all of this. There was great excitement when Rox and Bridg caught their first ever wild river born brownies. The peacefulness of the valley was shattered with screams and whoops as if the Pakistan cricket team had just won the World Cup.

Bridg’s first stream brown.

Happiness – Photo by one of the ladies?

Flyfishing running water is not rocket science, there are many helpful ‘how to’ books, but practice is the key. To think that books alone will do it for you is a bit like taking a correspondence course in brain surgery. Experience and skills are gained through observation, learning from others, time on the water and practice, practice and then more practice.

And, then when the going gets tough Alison sets the pace and takes 5 with a chilled cup of chardonnay.

If my time spent with the Women in Waders is any measure, the future of ladies in our flyfishing community is in good hands . Feeling inspired – thank you Rox, Bridg, Sindi, Alison, Linda and Lyndall for a rewarding experience. I hope there will be a next time in the coming season.

It was a good day on the Bushman’s with the Women in Waders. Photo Lyndall Blakie

 

WINTER BLUES – REALLY?

Winter blues, described as A mood disorder characterised by depression that occurs at the same time every year – it is patently clear that this doesn’t apply to flyfishers.

This is stillwater time, lakes, dams and farm ponds – frosty mornings, blue sky days, cold water, iced up rod guides, big trout and days when fingers and toes lose all knowledge of the brain. There are cosy cottages and evenings spent before a roaring fire with good friends, reflecting on the days events, of battles won and lost, stories, hearty meals, red wine or something stronger..

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

THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE

It is almost 3 months ago that I was in Wild Trout Country for the annual Rhodes Trout Festival and I’m already feeling that urge to return. Looking through my images today, I was transported back to the many pilgrimages I have made to the North Eastern Cape.

It is said a picture says a thousand words. I have put together a small selection of pictures from my recent visit together with some of my favourites from earlier trips. These pictures reflect my love of this part of our country.

But firstly. This years road trip, with Ian Cox, Jan Korrubel and Miles Divett for the annual Trout Festival, took just about 8 hours despite making use of a few dirt road shortcuts. We stopped only twice, once for a beer and Miles Divett’s gourmet cheese and salami sandwiches at our traditional spot for a break along the Pitseng road on the banks of the Luzi River and then at the top of Naudes Nek Pass for a drink to celebrate our arrival in wild trout country.

Beer and lunch Miles style.

It’s here from our vantage point at 2590 m above sea level overlooking the vast expanse of the Bell River valley where my heart begins to beat a little faster as excitement mounts and the expectations grow for four days fishing in some of the finest trout waters South Africa has to offer –  Each time I visit Rhodes something stirs inside me. It’s  hard to put my finger on the reason, but I do know that it is more than the infectious charms of miles and miles of sparking waters and the trout that live in them. Maybe it is reuniting with the part of my soul I left on previous visits, or then maybe it’s the remoteness, the beauty and the ambiance the place exudes.

 

The dictionary says “ambiance” means it’s the character and atmosphere of a place, the aura, mood, feel, quality, complexion, impression, flavour, spirit; setting, backdrop, environment, conditions, circumstances, situation, context; vicinity, locality, habitat and someone suggested, unpretentious ….. that’s about it as far as words can convey the feelings I have. You really need to go there to understand.

This years Dirt Road Traders sponsored festival was a resounding success, the hospitality, friendship, fun, stories and laughter. Dave Walker and his staff at Walkerbouts ensured all were well fed, organised and entertained. The bar at the Centre of the Universe was a focal point, a hive of activity, a place where friendships were renewed and new ones formed, stories were related and where the length of personal bests tend to grow by an inch with every passing hour. 

The fishing conditions were as close to perfect as we could ask for. The weather Gods were kind to us with rain before our visit and then four days of clear, sunny skies. The rivers and streams flowed quick, cool and clear with many hungry trout. Things have turned around in the North Eastern Cape after the devastating drought of 2 to 3 years ago – the countryside is looking better than I have seen in years, the streams are in prime condition and the trout population is back to normal. It bodes well for coming seasons.

Every time I leave Rhodes I leave behind a little of my soul and thoughts turn to the next opportunity to visit the area.

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