It was Fuckin' cold in Dullies...

this past weekend. I was up to see Steph, who is on a week's holiday at Millstream with her aunt, to do some fishing and catch up on the latest business opportunities out there. Steph has it in her mind that she wants to open a coffee shop (with a difference) and end up retiring there in a bunch of years time.

Anyway, our ex-neighbours, with whom we are still good friends, arrive at the gate around 15h30 on Friday to pick me up. We have a 10-sleeper croft at Millstream and they're coming along for the break with their kids.

Steph's cuzzin is looking after our house and dogs for the weekend, so they're in "good hands". I've locked the single malts away so that he can't get at them. We get on the highway at around 16h00 and after some not too hectic traffic jams, arrive at Millstream just short of 7pm. It's nippy out, but I can see we'll be going for a walk after dinner. I love walking around the estate at night, armed with nothing more than a torch and a hip flask of 10-yr old scotch, as there are herds of animals in the fields that can be viewed.

There's a roaring fire in the hearth, and we have hot soup, pizza and a couple of Capn's Organs for dinner. Then I convince Brian and his son that we have to go for a walk. Brian's game for just about anything outdoor-sy so we get wrapped up, grab torches and headlamps, and the hip flask, and head out.

Our walk must have lasted about an hour, during which we saw the occasional Blesbok (actually, heard them snorting at us first to let us know they'd seen us) and got so close to a herd of Zebra hiding in a depression against the wind that we could have poked a stick at them.

Back into the croft and we spent the night chatting, while I got the fly gear ready for the morning. I hoped to be up early, but the weather didn't look like it was going to play along. And true enough, it didn't. There was a biting wind blowing and clouds scudding across the crisp, blue sky. I eventually staggered out of bed around 7h30 for Brian to moan about how late I was and how early he'd gotten up to go fishing. Tough takkie, I was warm in my bed...it's his fault for getting up early.

We get down to the first of the dams just after 8am and proceed to thrash the water to a froth, or at least Brian and his son do. I make sure I'm a little distance away from them as they're about as adept with a fly rod as a cow with a gun. We're both using floating lines and dry flies, me thinking that the wind riffles on the surface might bring a fish up to feed. After a while, I change tactics and rig up the sinking line and a bead-head caddis nymph fly. Brian decides that his ADHD (attention deficiency) has the better of him, that he's bored of this dam and moves off to a lower water. On my second cast, and as Brian's head disappears over the dam wall, I'm into my first fish of the day. It's a little small at around 350g, but as its gills get damaged by the fly I'm forced to put it out of its misery and keep it for the pan. Next cast and I'm into another fish, slightly bigger, but undamaged so I release it back into the cold, clear, depths. After a couple of more casts, I get another hook up and decide to keep this fish too. Steph is keen on trout and makes the best trout pies, so I have no issue with keeping these fish.
I decide to take a walk up to an area of the estate known as The Weirs, a series of inline dams. I've always caught fish here and this time was no different. I take two more fish for Steph and around 11h00 my stomach forces me to head back to the croft for some brunch. All I've had in the meantime is a few swigs from my trusty hip flask to keep me warm.

I was about to jump into the shower and chill for a while when Steph phones from town to say that our mate, Stan, who owns the timeshare we were staying in, decided to put in an appearance and was up at The Weirs throwing some line. I decide to go along and meet him and catch up as it's a while since we saw each other. Stan hangs around until just before 1pm when he goes off to lunch with his missus and the kids. I take a walk along to one of the upper dams, Lake Tintern, to see if there's anything happening up there. The wind is still blowing, but the bottom corner is shielded by some big blue gum trees and I set up there. There's a couple of fishermen across the dam from me and I hear the one say to the other that he'd just taken four fish in five casts on a Black Wooly Bugger fly. As I'd been having no luck on the Caddis until then, I changed to a Bugger as well. And a good move, it was too. Half a dozen casts and a freight train finds the Bugger. The fish launches itself out the water a few times and I can see it's a biggie. After a fight for what feels around ten minutes (I'm using 1.5kg leader, so have to take it easy), I land my personal best fish of 1.7kg and decide to hang onto it as well, partly for bragging rights.
I decide to call it a day so that I can go back to the croft and shower, so that we can head down to the Dullstroom Inn for a couple of beers and to watch England get thrashed by the Bokke again. Everyone asks how many fish I caught and I say "One, but it's enough". Then I take the fish out of my kreel and Brian can't believe the size of it. He never knew trout grew to that size.

A quick shower later and we head into town, missing just the first nine minutes of the game. The place is packed and it's a great little pub to catch the atmosphere of the rugby match, particularly when the score ends up as 55 - 22 to the Bokke. Fuckin' sassenachs (Scottish pet name for the English) can't play rugby... Stan arrives just after the end of the game. He'd been back on the waters, but the weather had closed in and it had gotten rainy and colder, so he decided to pop in for a quick one on the way home. Three double Glenfiddich's each later and we reckon it's time for us to get going as everyone is getting together at Millstream for dinner.

The evening goes off great, myself and Brian out in the cold wind tanning a few tjops, keeping warm with more booze. I've never seen Brian drink as much as he has today, but he's chilling out (pardon the pun) so he's giving it his best shot (pardon that pun too). Brian's and Stan's daughters decide they want to see the Zebras so the three of us get bundled up and take a walk out into the cold night, but the pyjama'd horses aren't there and the girls are a little disappointed but glad to get back to the warmth of the croft. We end the night with coffee, port and scotch.

I wake up even later on Sunday morning, but Brian hasn't even gotten out of bed himself. Ha...my turn to take the piss out of him. The wind is blowing even harder than it was the day before and we get a fire going in the hearth to keep the croft warm. I decide to go back up to The Weirs for a bit more fishing, but end up only getting one pull. Brian doesn't even venture out of the house claiming it to be too cold for his hangover.

I get back to the croft sometime around lunchtime, have a quick plate of leftover braai meat and settle down to read the Sunday Times, which is full of the usual bad news. Steph arrives back from town, having gone to have a second look at a business opportunity. I saw the place she spoke of as we drove past it on the way to the rugby the day before and could immediately see it was on the "wrong side of town". It's a tiny little shop on the upper side of Dullies, out of the main town and has no storage space in the shop for anything, let alone meals that Steph was talking about preparing for customers. Due to the weather, the tables usually set outside for customers had to be brought into the shop and just cluttered up the place. Needless to say, I think Steph's forgotten about this little venture...for now.

The ladies decide it's pancake weather and proceed to knock up a batch for lunch. I'm still quite stuffed from my meal and not much of a pancake eater, so only have two. After that, we pack the car and head back to Shit Towne. Steph is staying on with her aunt until Tuesday, so I have the house to myself for another couple of nights.

Brian drops me at home around 18h30 and I settle in for the night. It's amazingly warm in Joburg and I don't even bother lighting a fire. The dogs are snuggled up in their beds so they hardly even stir. About 23h00 I decide to make my way to bed and end up reading until I start nodding off...a pleasant way to end the weekend.

I really need to get out this fuckin' city more often...