Divemaster GranDad: February 2008

We are sorry that our ancestors were intelligent, advanced and daring enough to explore the wild oceans to discover new countries and to conquer and develop these.

We are sorry that those who came before us took you out of the bush and taught you that there was more to life than beating drums and chasing animals with sticks and stones.

We are sorry that they planned, funded and developed roads, towns, mines, factories, airports, all of which you now claim to be your long deprived inheritance so you have full right to change and rename these at your discretion.

We are sorry that our parents taught us the value of small but strong families, to not breed like rabbits and end up as underfed, illiterate shack dwellers living in poverty.

We are sorry that when they provided you with schools, you decided it looked better without windows or in piles of ashes. We happily gave up those bad days of getting spanked in our all white schools for doing something wrong, and much prefer these days of freedom where problems can be resolved with knives and guns.

We are sorry that it is hard to shake off the bitterness of the past when you keep on raping, torturing and killing our friends and family members, and then hide behind the fence of "human rights" with smiles on your faces.

We are sorry that we do not trust the government. We have no reason to be so suspicious and short sighted seeing that there has never been a case where any of these poor hard working intellectuals were involved in any form of corruption or irregularities.

We are sorry that we do not trust the police force and although they have openly admitted that they have lost the war against crime and criminals, we should not be so negative and just keep on hoping for the best.

We are sorry that our wonderful Government basically flung open our border posts, and now left you competing for jobs against illegal immigrants from our beautiful neighboring countries. All these countries that have grown so strong after kicking out the "settlers"; You should follow their excellent example and grow big and strong like them!

We are sorry that we don't believe in witchcraft, beetroot and garlic, urinating on street corners, trading woman for cattle, or showering to avoid getting AIDS, maybe we just grew up differently. So sorry that when we are forced into sharing the same establishments, sometimes we lose our temper, that is totally uncalled for.

We are sorry that your medical care, water supplies, roads, and your electrical supplies are going down the toilet because skilled people who could have planned and resolved these issues had to be shown away because they were of the wrong ethnic background and now have to work in foreign countries where their skills are more needed.

We are so sorry and should really try harder to be more tolerant and learn to get along with EVERYBODY around us, one big happy family.

The Dumb White Kid

ps...fuck right off...why should we be sorry for advancing the continent, especially when it's you fuckers that are cocking it up? YOU fuckin' apologise to US!!...

of the Kosi Bay Fishing Bonanza 2008, and our holiday to Hermanus. I'll split them between two or more posts so that my reader (all one of them) will come back again.

Kosi Bay Fishing Bonanza 2008

I got a SMS from Fishman at about 7pm on the Tuesday night, saying that they were ready to leave. Basically, I was too, but we'd just had another one of Eskom's load-shedding exercises and I had to light a braai fire so that we could eat.

Around 11pm, I decided I wasn't going to be able to get some sleep and told Steph, who wasn't too happy about it, that I was going to get going. I just knew that if I was going to hang around the house for another hour, as was planned, I would settle down on the couch and probably only wake up about 6hrs later.

I made my way to Fishman's place, where the team made our reunion hello's and we moved some stuff, and hitched the trailer, to the back of my bakkie. Let me tell you how impressed I was with the Mazda-rati 2.5 Leeter Terbo Deesel. Man, I was impresssed. It cruised the entire trip at sometimes up to 150km/hr (when overtaking lorries) and never lost sight of Fishman's Toyota. The trailer was loaded with all the camping gear plus other bits and pieces (read: loads of beer) and I never felt it at all. On top of which, the fuel consumption only dropped to 8km/l instead of the usual 10km/l I normally get.

Anyway, we stopped off in Trichardt to say hello to one of the team from last year who sadly couldn't make it this year (Dolph, dis tyd dat jy 'n ander werk kry - hierdie een affekteer jou visvang tyd) and proceeded on our way. In total, it took us about 11hrs to get to Manguzi, the little town where the tar road ends. The drive was uneventful, with Fishman successfully managing to evade all the oncoming lorries this year (only cos he didn't have the trailer behind him) and we stopped to have a burger and check the fuel levels before hitting the sand road to the campsite.

The sand road was a slight challenge, with the trailer behind me, but nothing the Mazda-rati couldn't handle. Coming out, however, was to be another story as we got stuck trying to climb a hill and Fishman, whose bakkie has a better gearing than mine, managed to drag the trailer up the hill for us.

It took us about 90mins to get to the campsite and we had the pick of all the sites in the camp as there was almost no-one else there. We set up camp in a nice shady spot which had a lookout to the ocean through the scrub and proceeded to open another beer, which we followed by erecting tents and setting up the camp...in between beers. As you'll see by some of the photos later, we were quite organised, for a few part-time campers.

A quick walk down to the beach, beer in hand, to have a look at the fishing water (same water as last year, just a little further along the beach) and we went back to fire up the braai for the first night's meal, followed by lots of chatting and banter around the camp. We were all pretty knackered from the drive and me, not having slept in over 40hrs, decided to call it an early night. We'd be up early for fishing anyway and needed some sleep.

It felt like I hadn't slept at all as the first movement around the camp began on Thursday morning, somewhere around sparrow-fart time. Fishman's father-in-law was, as he would be for all the mornings there, first up and about. Standing rule in the camp was, first up puts on the kettle, and by the time I decided to surface (somewhere around 05h30) Fishman had thrown a handful of coffee bags into the kettle and it was brewing into a nice, dark, caffeinated soup. Just what the doctor ordered.

After pottering about for a while, getting fishing rods and gear organised, we hit the beach for the first casts...and the first beers of the day. The fishing became just something we were trying to do, changing baits when we felt the last one had been soaking for long enough. Mostly we'd find that the bait had been partially eaten by what I call "Nibblets"...little fuckers that peck at your bait and make it unattractive to the bigger targets. Anyway, it gave us something to do between beers and kept us practicing our casting. I was using the new Shimano reel for only the second time, having caught nothing the first time I went fishing with my brother over Christmas.

The Shimano Torium50 reel casts a bait a looonnnnnggg way and even Fishman had to admit I was casting further than last year when I was using my old Penn Jigmaster. Having a decent rod also helps, which I'd bought on my holiday last year when I'd broken the one I'd been using at Kosi Bay the week before. We caught nothing the first day, but it didn't dampen our spirits. Going back to camp, Fishman again did a brilliant job with the supper (if memory serves me rightly, it was a lamb chop stew/curry - very tasty) and we setled down for another pleasant evening of banter and drinking.

Awake on Friday morning, also around 5am, but everyone except father-in-law decided to sleep in another half hour. Again, coffee was waiting when we did stumble, groaning and scratching the usual bits, onto the sandy campsite. A good strong cup of coffee later, gear packed, and we were on the beach again. This time we were heading a little further north than we'd been the day before as we'd seen a few other guys come back with a nice size Kingfish in their bag. As we were on the beach earlier than they were, we thought it pertinent that we steal "their" spot. And just as well we did too...that was where I got my {ahem} first fish of the trip. As you can see by the posting a little below this one, a nice 15 to 20kg Diamond Ray (confirmed by a knowledgable angler). A few photos later, the hook removed, and the ray was returned unharmed to the water to grow up a bit more (these rays can grow to around 100kg or more).

This time of year in Kosi Bay is the middle of turtle breeding season. On a previous evening walking back to the camp, we had been asked by wardens from the WWF (World Wildlife Fund, not the World Wrestling Foundation) to not shine our torches and headlamps into the eyes of turtles, if we came across them, that were heading up the beach to lay their eggs. Being the considerate anglers we are, we had one opportunity to do exactly that. A soon-to-be-mother turtle was paddling her way up the beach, watched by some tourists (from France, I think) and we all dutifully switched off our lights. Apparently, if the turtle sees a bright light nearby and she's on her way up the beach, she will turn around and head straight back into the water, sometimes aborting her eggs. On other occasions, the turtle will try and find another beaching spot and try again. We watched a couple of minutes while the turtle, about four feet in length, scrambled her way up the beach. Everyone was speaking in whispers, not wanting to disturb her. It was quite amazing to see. Back in the camp the evening was, as the previous had been, spent chatting, laughing and having a few drinks.

On Saturday, we woke up a little dejected, knowing that this was to be our last full day on the beach so we made the most of it. Up early again, on the beach around the usual 5h30, lines in for as long as we could. At about 10am, everyone was feeling a little peckish, so Fishman, Cornerman and sister-in-law decided to go back to camp and prepare us all a little breakfast (and replenish father-in-laws beers, 6 of which he'd already consumed that morning). Father-in-law and I stayed behind to watch the rods and when the three of them were about 500m away from us, sister-in-law's fishing reel started screaming with a big pull. Realising what the sudden noise was, I darted for the rod, but before I could tension the drag the fish had dropped the bait. Needless to say, when the three breakfasteers returned and we told them of what had happened, we were greeted with incredulous comments. Breakfast was great, sandwiches of bully beef and beans, washed down with Capn's Organ'n'Coke or beer.

As usual, we came off the beach in the heat of the day and retired to camp a while. On days like these, father-in-law would usually head off for a snooze and the rest of us would spend some time playing dominos and drinking. On one of these domino sessions, we invented a shooter drink we called the "V2 Rocket". Here, in SA, we get a Red Bull-type of energy drink called "V"...a little sweet, but a great hangover juice. To make a V2, you need to submerge a tot glass of Archers Peach Schnapps (or schnapps of your choice, we only had Archers) into half a glass of V, which is then downed in one gulp and the tot glass has to be caught in your teeth. What started off as a penalty down-down turned into a drink of "hhmmm, that's been sitting on the table too long, I think I'll have it". Give it a try sometime if you can...

In the afternoon, we all made our way back down to the beach for a last cast and we were a little distressed to see that the number of anglers on the beach had grown considerably. I asked one of them what the occasion was and was annoyed to hear that the NCAU (Natal Coast Anglers Union) had organised one of its weekend competitions on the very same beach that the turtles were beaching on. I later asked one of the WWF guys if he knew that this was taking place and he advised that he didn't and that it looked like chaos. I assured him that I would be writing to a couple of magazines and government institutions, as well as the NCAU, to lodge a complaint backed up by photogrpahs of the number of anglers. I'll post a copy of the letter here at a later stage too. I'm going to throw the NCAU's own constitution at them which, briefly, states "Bring to the notice of the Executive Committee any activities or practices of the UNION and its members that are not in compliance with environmental legislation." How much more non-compliant do they want to be? Bastards...

Anyway, Cornerman and I decided to stay on the beach and fish as it got dark while the rest went back to the camp to start the last supper. Just after dark, we hear a screaming noise and yes, you guessed it, my reel was screaming again. Fish on! As it was to have been my last cast of the trip, I put out two whole sardines and a chunk of squid as a bait, hoping to hook a decent sized shark for a bit of fun. Instead, after a couple of minutes fight, I landed the stingray. Cornerman had run up the beach to call down the rest of them and to grab the camera (which had become part of my fishing tackle). It was pitch dark by now and, as you can see by the photos it wasn't easy to release the stingray. One of the hooks had foul-hooked it just under the eye and I had to extract the hook with pliers. It wasn't nice to see it hurt, but I was a little happier when I saw it swimming away alive.

After the excitement, we packed up the gear and headed back to camp, for father-in-law to taunt me with more jibes of "fish thief" and the like (jealousy is a horrible thing). I wasn't caring. We'd had two trips together to this part of the world and, beautiful as it is, no-one had caught anything previously. I was chuffed to bits, happy that the cost of the rod, reel, tackle and trip was all worth it.

Our last evening in camp was quite an early one, as we knew we had to get up early and pack, then hit the road for the long trip back to Shit Towne.

Up early on Sunday morning, around 6am, we had coffee, packed all the gear into the bakkies and trailer, had a last shower to cool off a bit (the Kosi Bay coast is extremely humid at this time of year and we were all sweating from the exertion of packing) and headed back toward Manguzi to pump up the tyres and get onto some decent tar road by about 9am.

Fishman's Toyota showed up my Mazda-rati on the way out of the campsite when we got stuck in some deep sand on a steep incline. The trailer, even though it was missing quite a bit of weight from all the beer that had been drunk, coupled with my relative inexperience on sandy roads, managed to bog us down. Then Fishman came to the rescue, brought his bakkie back down the hill, hitched the trailer and dragged it up the hill with not much effort and into Manguzi where we swapped it back to my hitch and I dragged it home.

The drive home was uneventful, although a little hot cos my aircon couldn't handle the ambient temperature and refused to cool the cab down to a more pleasant temperature. We got back to Fishman's place around 7pm and I left them to unpack the trailer. I had to get home and get some laundry done, as Steph and I were leaving for Hermanus on the Monday evening. There was lots to be done before then...

Here's some of the photos we took, with a little description at each...enjoy...

Campsite and tents

Campsite - note the stack of booze next to the freezer. A box there also held Fishman and Cornerman's stock of KWV brandy. The little grey fridge in the middle was also full of beer

Fishman made this handy contraption to carry his rods down to the beach. I found a better use for it

It was amazing how tiring the fight was, even just five or so minutes into it. I had to use my elbow to hold the rod as my forearm was cramping. Obviously I don't wank enough to have strong forearms