Fly Fishing is a funny sport...

for some people anyway... I'd seen an advert in a local fly fishing mag for Elgro Lodge (no website, sorry) on the Vaal River, about an hour's drive from home, and decided to go down for a bit of Yellow Fish-ing (instead of trout) for a change. We're going to Dullstroom this coming weekend anyway, so I'll do the trout thing then... Steph, in her infinite wisdom, asks the youngest son of her ex-sister-in-law if he wants to come along. Josh is, I think, about twelve years old and a likeable, chubby, little lad so I agree, even though I don't know where he's going to sit in the pickup as it's only designed with two front seats and with two large toolboxes where the back seats usually are. We compromise on the seating by taking one of the boxes out and sticking in a few soft cushions, and Josh is happy enough with the arrangements. We leave Joburg at about 09h00 (a little late for my liking) and head for Potchefstroom (named after a Boer leader, Andries Hendrik Potgieter). I'm not sure why "chef" is in the name but I think he liked having barbecues. The third part of the name, "stroom" is a translation of the English "stream" and, yes, it is next to something swampy that looks like a stream (probably was a nice little eco-habitat until the local township polluted it over the years). Anyway...I digress... So we head into Potchefstroom after about an hour and a half's travel, looking for the road that the "lodge" people gave us over the phone the day before. Nada...niks...nothing... So I phone them up again, asking for clarified directions (yes, a man actually asked for directions...what was I thinking??) and get a new set. Eventually, I find the road they tell me to take and head off into the lunchtime sun. After 22-odd kilometres, we hit a dead-end. I start swearing, mindless of the twelve-year-old ears in the back. Back on the phone again, and this time they give us the number to the "owner" of the lodge (turns out he's one of the rangers - yeah, I know Jen...probably couldn't find the back of the net either, just like the rest of the team). He tells us we're about 45km off track, and gives us the actual route to the place. A half hour later and I introduce myself to Greg, our map expert and resident game ranger as opposed to footbal player. "You're the guy that got lost and phoned, aren't you?", he asks, probably thinking to himself "What kind of man phones for directions...huh?" We have a look around the place, he explains the set up and the facilities, and it looks like a really nice place for a fishing visit. You could even hold a conference for 70 people, according to Greg. I'll take his word for it... I get the fly gear together, rod set up and into the waders. Then I set up Josh's rod and wander off into the afternoon sun for some alone-time on the water. Although the sun is shining and there's only just enough breeze about to mess your cast around, the water is freezing...17deg according to my trusty dive-computer-cum-satellite -tv-receiver-wristwatch-thingy. Cold by any account... I'm casting about for a couple of hours when I decide to call it a day, having fought the current for long enough. We've had quite a bit of rain over the last few months so the river is flowing stronger than usual and that's maybe taken the fish off the bite (that's my excuse for not catching anything and I'll stick to it). I'd picked up a stick earlier that I'd used to feel my way around the rocky river bed. Just as well, as the water was dirty and I couldn't see deeper than about six inches (no, I didn't stick my willy in it to see how deep it was...anyway, I wouldn't have been able to see the other three inches of it if I had). At one point I leaned on the stick a little too hard to keep my balance and ended up breaking off the bottom foot or so of it, so it made it a little more difficult to wade my way back to the bank. In my infinite wisdom, I'd decided to take a shortcut back to the water's edge and found that the going was a little easier...until I got to a large rock which I had to wade around. Not thinking, and not poking my shortened stick at it either, I stepped off the rock...and up to my fuckin' chin in icy water. I'd heard about guys falling in in their waders, which filled up rather quickly and put them in a spot of bother, so you can imagine how quick I moved to get back onto the rock. Not fast enough, apparently. I got seen. I look back to the bank and Steph's pissing herself laughing, quietly but still pissing herself, and Josh (who was sitting on a small jetty) has his head hanging between his legs. I can see him chortling away as well. To cut a long story short, I got back to the bank, changed into some dry clothes I'd brought along (just in case) and sat down to have a drink. Josh tells us that all he heard was "Oops" and then I disappeared for a bit. I saw him looking down, trying to keep it to himself as, he told us later, he wasn't sure whether or not he was allowed to laugh at what had happened. General laughter, at my expense, all round...even on the way home, Steph looks round and Josh is just about bursting at the seams trying to keep his laughter to himself. Little bastid... We eventually got home at about 19h30, after dropping Josh off who first told his mum about the near-drowning then that he hadn't caught anything but it was worth the trip. A nice hot shower, a cold single malt, and a movie on telly (National Treasure, with Nicholas Cage)...a good day out, all told... I think we'll go back there in summer next time...just in case I decide to go for another swim...