Easter Yellowfish Clinic

Unfortunately we only had one day over the long weekend allocated to fishing.  The rest of the weekend was obligated to family as it should be.  Mine was a Hobson reunion with cousins from all over the world, one hundred and twenty eight of us, sjoe!  Now at least I know where my bloodline came from, scary thought.

Anyway, we - Tim, his brother in-law Peter from KZN, Rob and myself - set off for one of the exclusive Angler and Antelope waters, the Pauls river in the Cradock district, on a pleasantly cool overcast day. The beats comprise short pools or sections of river that host deepish washed-out pockets, so I took Tim and Rob on the rabbit path, (no not the Easter egg hunt), through the masses of blackjacks and thorn trees to where the Pauls river meets the torrent of brown Orange/Great Fish river water.  If you can imagine these poor yellowfish, moggel, mudfish, carp and barbel being bashed from side to side through hundreds of kilometers of concrete tunnel from the Gariep dam some thirty-odd kilometers above Cradock where they are flushed into the Brak river which flows into the Great Fish river. The Pauls river, a tributary source of the Great Fish, is fountain fed water that meets the Great Fish about fifteen kilometers north of Cradock.  The Pauls river is like a drive through take away heaven for the fish, calm usually clear water. Good news for us fly fisherman is there seems to be a constant flow of new hungry take away customers, most of whom have not seen a fly. There now, that doesn’t make these fish stupid or any easier to catch, remember they have had to survive miles of concrete tunnel bashing so they are understandably sceptical.

After some mud sliding down the river bank with thorn branches to hold onto we finally got to the river. It was unusually gingerbeerish.  However, they have enjoyed some good rain recently, so the layout of the riverbed had changed a little. While Tim and Rob looked at the water apprehensively, there was a huge swirl five meters from us that ignited their enthusiasm. We rigged up hastily, only after I had surgically addressed Tim’s leader and robbed his fly box. Tim ties some amazing creations which are very inspirational for any fly fisherman. Rob remarked that he felt a little under dressed, he was referring to his sparsely stocked fly box.  Having convinced the two of them that they needed to wade belly button deep, I left them as Peter was waiting patiently at the vehicle for me. Tim and Rob had the first 500 meters of river as their beat so Peter and I headed for two long pools further up river.

Peter was apprehensive to say the least as he had no idea what to expect and had never caught a yellowfish before.  He didn’t really believe that these ginger beer pools lined by reeds, blackjacks and thorn trees held fish, big fish! We stealthily approached the water where there was a gap in the bush, after I had explained to him that yellows actually spook more quickly to voices rather than stumbling along the bank. The next few minutes developed with whispers and sign language while he prospected the off color water in front of him. To his credit, he purposely placed the fly between the structure. After some encouragement Peter began to relax, that didn’t mean he believed there were fish in this pool. Eventually, there was a bulge of movement next to an overhanging branch opposite us. I signalled to Peter to cast where the fish had moved, he was two feet short. I reassured him that the fish being an astute predator would have felt the arrival of his fly as it hit the water.  He stripped once, on the second strip … BANG! The line jerked tight, he was ON. I proceeded to bark excited instructions at Peter, which he ignored; the panic was that the fish streaked for the tree submerged at the head of the pool. Peter managed to turn the fish and fight it in the unobstructed water, it was a strong fish that refused to show itself. A golden slab submitted minutes later, almost 60cm, a magnificent specimen, Peter’s first yellow fish. As I remarked that he didn’t need to show off by catching a big fish first up, he just beamed from ear to ear and didn’t have to say a word. On reflecting on the day Peter’s comment was “that was totally unexpected pleasure”, yes Peter, “WILD FLY FISHING IN THE KAROO”, congratulations!

Feeling satisfied that our Gauteng de-tribalized small mouth yellow fish had given a good account of themselves, I politely asked Peter if he would object if I left him to his own devices as I moved to the pool above him. Two months ago this pool was one unfishable mass of red carpeted Azzolla, a water fern. Thankfully the rains had flushed the pool and it was now fishable. Not trying to reinvent the wheel I stuck with my secret weapon the MMD? Mini mottled dragon, a dragonfly nymph developed specifically for this water.  A few months ago a friend, Patrick, came fishing with me to this same stretch of water and produced his Irish grandfather’s fly box, blew the dust out and took out a dragonfly nymph of about 5cm in size. Not to show my disbelief or amazement I watched and learnt, went home bemused by his success and developed my MMD series of flies, mini mottled dragon, medium mottled dragon and monster mottled dragon.  Now all very successful patterns for all seven species we target in our waters, thanks Patrick!  True to form the MMD produced a vicious take on the lift of my second cast, a whopper 55cm absolutely magnificent bright gold yellow.

Feeling guilty that we’d neglected Tim and Rob, I left Peter to go and see how they were doing, only to find out that Tim’s chattering teeth were not because Peter had caught his first yellow, but because he was drenched.  Tim had his polar fleece gillet pulled over the outside of his waders, being the diligent soul that he is, he had waded up to his belly button, the polar fleece simply soaked up the river from the bottom up. The lesson is twofold, that polar fleece is a sponge and should not be worn over waders and that that is how you get hyperthermia! Tim was not having a good day.  He had been broken off three times ... However, Rob had landed one yellow so far but was extremely frustrated, as the fish were teasingly rising all around him. They do this on the Pauls river, schools of yellows and moggel come nymphing literally at your feet, so much so that I have previously caught both yellows and moggel while adjusting my strike indicator with my flies dangling at my feet.  I changed Rob’s fly to … you guessed, it the MMD.  Well a few casts later, the bend in Rob’s rod equalled the smile on his face.  A moggel, yup, hooked properly in the corner of the mouth actively retrieving a dragonfly imitation, they do eat living organisms and not just algae. We then got Tim off the river as quickly as we could, clambering through the thorny bush and into warm dry clothes and finished off enjoying a great braai and a frosty before retiring home after another great "wild fly fishing in the Karoo" clinic.

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