Olivia Strange Pursuits
Sorry, chaps. Although it’s definitely your province, you’re worse at it than we are. Women, that is, and fly fishing. “Their timing is so much better. They’re relaxed about it and don’t become panicked or competitive,” says Mark Eardley, compleat fly fisherman and instructor at the Footloose Trout Farm just outside Johannesburg.
Since opening the school a year ago, Mark and his partner Ian Kendal have taught a wide range of people the rudiments and refinements of the activity, using the 15 trout-stocked dams on the 25ha property.
The capability observation is made when we have walked across the lawns to the dams and are testing the empirical knowledge gained in an hour-long session in the classroom, or clubhouse. It’s a hot Gauteng Saturday morning and 14 of us, mainly sporty-looking men, two women, have sat listening to and watching the demystification of “tackling up”.
That’s about getting to know your rod – how to assemble it, how to care for it (don’t swing it around unnecessarily; don’t bang it on anything, it’s brittle and breaks easily). We then learn about the reel and its special weighted nylon line which involves deeply macho terminology like “butt section” and “belly”, referring to where it tapers and where it swells.
The different casts and favourite techniques are explained – arm position, stance, attitude … And the terminal cunning of the intended prey – the trout – is touched upon. The science of fish psychology that has filled volumes and driven some people mad will come later when, after the day’s initiation, we have become “hooked” and take up the sport full-time.
The tackle, good-quality professional- standard rods, reels and lines, is on loan from the school for the day but a complete outfit of carefully selected components is on sale at R675.
The myth that one has to spend several thousand rand on brand names is dispelled as Eardley explains that what they are trying to do is make the sport more friendly and remove the “elitist” tag associated with it. “It’s a relaxing day outdoors, really. We are trying to bring fly fishing down to a popular level, away from the highbrow aspect. Because it’s not the exclusive sport of the rich. There are tackle-junkies who insist on all the expensive gear. It’s not necessary. Having all the special gear is no guarantee they’ll catch the fish,” he says.
The casting session begins. “More than three swings per cast and you are showing off,” we are told. So there’s no need to keep the thing aloft and whipping around like you see them do it in the movies. Standing about 10m apart around the dam for the next hour we achieve differing levels of expertise under the patient and careful tutelage of Eardley and Kendal. There are moments of triumph when the line flies with the greatest of ease and lands exactly where you aimed it, and straight, not zig- zag.
And when you’re getting one good cast out of 10 the action becomes almost sedate – jerk the rod back, not past two o’clock; watch the line until it reaches its fullest extent behind you and swing it forward, smoothly, pointing the tip of the rod at the water’s surface, watching the line unfurl …
The midday sun is wilting stamina, and the thought of lunch, shade and somewhere to sit is enticing. Home-made pasta and salad are served in the clubhouse (with a vegetarian option as well, strangely, given that we are here to learn to hunt).
There follows another hour of hands-on training on the intricate art of tying knots. An Albright will attach the fly line to the leader securely, so it won’t come apart or break when you engage in battle with the 15kg rogue. The Double Surgeon joins the thinner nylon line to the fly line and serves as a hook line, where you apply the Blood Knot or the Palomar. And so on …
We are spared lessons in fly-tying – surely the most arcane part of the practise – but are given a brief explanation of how different flies “match the hatch” or simulate the natural food source of the fish; how some float, some sink. According to Eardley, basic equipment should consist of six each of wet and dry flies, among them the imaginatively named Woolly Bugger, Walker’s Killer and Mrs Simpson. Those gaudy selections of flies that men wear pinned to their hats and jackets are part of the tackle-junkie syndrome and are for show rather than verisimilitude.
Imbued with more of the lore we head for the water again with deadly intent. Our lines carry hooks and we have absorbed finer details about technique. The afternoon has become sultry and the trout in the stocked dams are staying out of easy reach in the cool depths. Many of us, since lunch and further lessons, have lost our novice caution and are starting to get the hang, or perhaps swing, of urban fly fishing. I had anticipated at least one incident involving a Woolly Bugger and a piece of exposed human flesh – with 14 enthusiasts flinging their lines around in hot pursuit.
But the day comes to an undamaged end. There is one tiddler – about a quarter of a kilogram – that is thrown straight back. One woman reluctantly hooks a “pan-sized” trout that is also immediately returned to its afternoon nap.
Out of their latest 14 recruits Eardley and Kendal, going by statistics, expect about a 50% return rate. During the final team talk, around the pleasant outdoor bar, there are serious strategic discussions, a few entertaining creatures-of-the-deep stories, and at least seven potential fly- fishing bores.
The school is held on Saturdays from 9am to 5pm and costs R175 per person for tuition, tackle and lunch. Footloose Trout Farm is 9km from Fourways on the R511 to Hartebeespoort. Phone Caro or Mark Eardley on (011) 447 2187 for more information