When Smokey the Bear and his compadre Trav set off on the equivalent of a buddy cop road trip at the tail end of last summer, they were hopeful about what they’d find in two very different fisheries – Thrift and Vanderkloof dams. In his inimitable style, Smokey tells the tale of what went down in part one of their fly fishing journey.

THRIFT DAM

When planning a fishing trip you always take into account the usual stuff like time of year, availability of friends, cash etc… My buddy Trav was working the super yacht circuit like many Saffers do and we’d planned a bit of mission for April. The idea was to go to Lesotho for some late seasons browns around Semonkong and then head up to Vanderkloof Dam in the Northern Cape to try and get a big largie coupled with as much jolling as we could stomach.

Trav had just landed back in SA and we had about a week before we were due to start the trip when, as luck would have it, the rains came early to Lesotho. That, coupled with chilly weather, made that part of the mission a no go. So, we went back to the drawing board to come up with another destination for the first few days of the trip before Vanderkloof. Chatting to some of the okes from our fly fishing crowd for inspiration, there was talk of Thrift Dam and how it had apparently been cooking. For those who have never heard of it, Thrift is one of those legendary trout dams in the Eastern Cape known for seriously cold weather and seriously big fish thanks to the stocking efforts of Martin Davies and his Kamloops strain of monster trout. We made a few phone calls to get proper intel, then jumped on Google Earth to find out where the fuck Thrift actually was, before putting the final pieces in place for our now, ‘Eastern Cape into Northern Cape’ mission!

Finally we were off, loaded with heaps of fly gear, a couple of roadies for Trav and a jar of Uncle Glen’s turbo. Leaving the Garden Route where we are both based, we made our way up the coast on the N2 towards Gqeberha/PE, then inland past Addo and a lekker place, aptly named Daggaboer Farmstall, before driving on to what was formerly known as Craddock, now called Nxuba. Here we stopped for meat, booze, snacks and pretty much every bag of long stem broccoli the Spar had. This stuff is like catnip for Trav and not being able to get it while stuck in the ass end of Turkey while his boat was in dry dock for the last few months, he wanted to try and eat his body weight in broccoli over the next few days. The convo flowing from him went something like, “My bru, have you ever had this tweeklap broccoli on the braai? It’s next level, especially after you baste it with Mrs Balls chutney and spices and get it lekker crispy.” Sure bru… whatever you need.

SHOP THE MISSION

Suitably stocked up, we drove on to Tarkastad. Now, if you haven’t been there before, you’re in for a treat! It’s legitimately a one-horse town with a big old school church, 11 bottle stores, one petrol station and one police station. As we rolled in there was an oke chilling on the main road plucking a porcupine. I asked him what his plan was. He looked at me like I was the mad one and tuned he was going to braai it. Rad, carry on bru!

Usually okes stay at the super rustic cottages at Thrift. They look pretty cool, but we didn’t want the hack of taking all of our cooking stuff and bedding, so I found a cottage to rent on a farm around 17km away from the dam. I wasn’t sure how kiff it would be as it was so cheap, but it turned out to be an amazing spot with two well-appointed en suite rooms, a lekker kitchen and lounge and, best of all, a separate kuier area with a built in braai, a bar and a couple stuffed wildebeest mounts on the wall. Little did we know that those wildebeest would later play a role in making that part of the trip for us.

On arrival, we chucked all our shit into the cottage, grabbed our rods and jumped back into the car for the mission further up to the dam. We wound our way up the hillside through pristine farmland en route to what we hoped would be some the best trout fishing South Africa has to offer. The weather was epic, afternoon sunshine and no wind. Thrift really is a special place, sitting in a beautiful valley surrounded by cattle farms and the Winterberg mountains. You couldn’t wish for a better setup for a trout dam. Many people have fished here and caught their fish of a lifetime. Excitement high, we were confident we would do the same. Arriving at the dam, as tradition requires, we immediately downed a beer. We opened another one and started rigging up. We both chose intermediate lines. I opted for a hot head black woolly bugger while Trav went for an olive one. We decided to fish a bit directly in front of the cottages where we had parked hoping for a quick end to the mombak. Ten casts nothing, 20 casts nothing, 30 casts nothing. Fok not even a rise anywhere in sight! The amp was slowly dissipating. More beer. 40 casts nothing. The water was clear, there were insects hatching, but where were the fish? Time to move bru… we headed around the point toward the rocky ledges near the causeway. As we came around the point we saw another car and an oke in a float tube. We gave him some space and started fishing along a kiff looking weed bank with deep water on one side and a shallow bank on the other. Ten casts nothing, fly change, 20 casts nothing, 30 casts nothing, fly change… fuuuck! “What’s happening bru?” I tuned Trav. “Maybe they are sitting deep?” came the response. We changed to slow sinking lines and started fishing slow and deep. Still nothing. By now the oke in the float tube had come in to the bank for a little chat:

Us: Howzit?

Him: Howzit?

Us: Any fish bru?

Him: No.

Us: You fish here often?

Him: Ya lank, I’ve been here for two days and haven’t had a touch. Never seen it this quiet in such good conditions.

Us: Fok.

Him: Ya, beer?

Us: Why not?

As quickly as the stoke arrived when we got to Thrift, it disappeared. The light was almost gone so we made our way back to our cottage driving in silence, listening to Radiohead. Time to braai, tweeklap Broccoli for the win. No seriously it’s fokken great! Over a few more beers we set up rods and came up with a game plan for the following day.  

Up well before sunrise, we loaded the car and made our way back up to the dam in the hope that the fish would be feeding at first light. Once again the tunes were pumping and the amp was there. The weather was perfect. Surely they had to be on? We fished flat out the entire day and into the evening without even a touch. I saw one fish rise just before sunset and this gave me enough gees to have another 30 casts or so without any joy. Spirits broken we headed back to cottage for a few beers and a Woolies Lasagne then early to dos.

Round three. Again, up well before sunrise, car loaded, tunes pumping, banging up the mountain to what surely had to be a good fishing day. I mean the weather was again prime, how could we not get fish? Fok. At last light we headed back down to the cottage, again not a touch. Dismal car ride back. You know the story by now. Back at the cottage I wasn’t even that keen for beer or some of Uncle Glen’s Turbo. It was time for a serious conversation:

Me: Trav bru, what is going on here? Why are we puzzling so hard?

Trav: Dunno bru.

Me: I mean it’s not like we’re kak fisherman bru, we know how to catch a trout. Tomorrow is our last full day here, should we even fish or should we just head to Vanderkloof?

Trav: Let’s fish bru.

Me: Ok cool, what should we do now?

Trav: Braai broccoli and have a bit of a jol?

Me: Brandy and coke?

Trav: Fuck ya! Fast forward to a bottle of brandy, about 3 kgs of broccoli and chops down, and we were raving around the outside braai area like okes at Afrika Burn. Trav kept tickling the beard of one of the wildebeest mounts, tuning me that he reckoned he could tie a lekker fly out of it, so I went and got my vice and tying gear. He cut a bit of the beest’s beard off and strapped together a black streamer made of wildebeest hair, zonker and bit of flash. The fly was nothing to write home about but maybe, just maybe, the secret ingredient we needed was the Wit Wildebees!

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Continue reading Smokey’s account of their cross-country fishing trip in issue 54 of The Mission below. It’s free!

SPEAK SMOKEY

Before you read the rest of the article, you should associate yourself with an incomplete glossary of the (mostly Afrikaans) Seffrican words used by our giant soutie friend.

Bru - brother, bro
Braai - South Africa's superior answer to BBQ
Dops - drinks
Dos - sleep
Fok - fuck
Gees - spirit/vibe
Howzit - how is it?/how are you?
Jol - party
Jolling - partying
Kak - shit
Kiff - cool/awesome
Kuier - visit
Lank - very/lots
Largie – largemouth yellowfish
Larnie - fancy/rich person
Mombak - to break your duck/get the monkey off your back. Aka, catch your first fish of a trip or session.
Môre - morning... when there's nothing good about it.
Okes - guy/blokes
Smallie - smallmouth yellowfish 
Soutie - South African of British descent
Tweeklap - twice-hit/double-punch
Vas - tight