von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Chapter 1.

The young man started fishing relatively late in life, he was in his mid-twenties. He had done a bit of fishing earlier in his life, but very little.

But now it had become a hobby and a passion. Whenever he could get a few days, it had to be at least four or five; he would go fishing at the dam. He would pack the car or pick-up with fishing and camping gear, along with ample supplies, and head of for the dam. He always took one person with, and only one, for the saying was very true that said; two is company, but three or more, a crowd.

So he took either his brother or one particular friend, who also had a love for fishing, along on his expeditions to the dam. They sat under the stars and fished under the moonlight. Drinking was kept to a minimum, for intoxicated fishermen was no use, either to themselves or their companions. They fished with a variety of rods. Small carp rods for carp and a few long sea-rods, dressed with meat-bait, for barbell.

The bait was taken out by one man rowing out on the paddle-ski, while the other checked the regularity of the flow of the lines on the reels. The man watching the reels had to make sure the line on the reels did not get tangled as it was being unwound from the reels. It did happen occasionally however, and then the man on shore shouted at the rower to stop rowing, while he untangled the crows-nest. Once this was done the rower continued rowing and then dropped the baited lines when he had reached a desired point in the dam. He had to take care to spread them out quite a distance from each other, so that they did not get tangled with each other in the flow of the water.

He approached it a bit like a low-ranking frontline military commander; involved in an operation in hostile territory. Everything was run with timed precisions, first the mealy-bombs were made, which were pieces of coiled wire stuffed with a maize mix. This was excellent bait for medium sized carp, which is what they mainly went for.

The greatest joy was the first strike. They would be sitting and talking under the night sky, when suddenly the ratchet of a reel sounded the alarm. Inevitably the medium-size carp will hook itself and the angler only needs to strike lightly with the rod in order to sink in the hook into the mouth of the fish. Once this is done the owner of the rod takes control there-of, while the other man walks into the water, about waist deep, to land the fish being reeled in. This he does this with the aid of a landing net. He scoops the fish into the net while it is still in the water, to reduce the chance of it escaping.

Then the mealie-bomb is rigged again and the whole process repeated. Two men can catch between five and ten fish in those few days, including many smaller ones that are not worth the effort. These fish weigh between two-and-a-half and three-and-a-half kilograms each. But make no mistake; it is hard work, meant for sober-minded men.

A healthy fish of this size can put up a decent fight. A light carp rod makes for excellent sport and you can feel the power of the fish as you reel it in slowly. First you pull up the rod, and then reel in the slack line. This process is repeated continuously as you reel in the fish, all the time you feel the power of the fish between your hands.

After four or five days of this the two men are both thoroughly tired and in need of rest. All that remains is to gut the fish. They are taken to the water edge and summarily gutted, although they are allowed to retain their heads in death. The entrails are offered to the dam-god, and the fish’s fellow fish. To appease the former and feed the latter. The men depart home and, once there, divide the fish among the people.

The young man went frequently to enjoy his sport but soon the desire arose in him to catch bigger fish. He found out how; boilies.

Chapter 2.

Boilies is commercial carp bait. They are round balls, the size and texture of niggerballs. A small hole is made through the ball, through which the fishing-line passes, and then the hook is fastened on the other side. It is advisable to use a very small hook such as a size ten or twelve. The bigger the hook, the less chance one has that a big carp will take the bait. Big carp are the most sly of fish.

This also pertains to striking the rod once the fish starts to take the bait. Big carp, like smaller carp, will also hook itself, but not quite so easily. It will pick up the bait gently in its mouth, move it a few meters, put it down, wait. It will repeat this process several times until it is certain the delicacy is not bait, and then it will eventually pick up the bait and run with it. But the angler must be very patient. If he strikes to soon he will not hook the fish and loose it before the fun starts.
So it came that the young man and his brother were out one particular night, attempting to catch the big fish of the dam, with boilies as bait. They attached the bait to the fishing line and took it in very, very deep into the dam with the paddle-ski. Then they sat back and waited, but deep into the night no fish took the bait of either the small rods, or the big sea-rod baited with the boilie. Eventually they retired to their sleeping bags and dosed off in the quite night of the African veldt.

But wait, yes, there it was, the Penn’s ratchet had gone off on the big sea rod. They were immediately both wide awake and moved quickly towards the rod. His brother advised him to wait and let the fish hook itself, which he did. In the meanwhile his brother located the big landing net, and they both waited for the next sign of activity from the big fish. It had to be a big one, because only really big carp went for boilies.

And, yes, there it was again. The Ratchet made the loud noise of steel on plastic, distinctly that of a Penn reel. Then silence. After a while again the noise of the ratchet, then silence again. This went on for a while, for certainly this fish was sly. But suddenly and with certainty, the big fish got hooked on the bait. Realized this, and ran. Now the ratchet screamed furiously and continuously. The young man picked up the big sea rod and struck it gently and firmly, as experience had taught him. The big fish was on the line.

It was a monster of a fish; he immediately felt this in the rod. It bent like a grass stem in the wind, as strong a rod as it was. The big fish was hooked and fought for its life and liberty with every ounce of its power, of which it had plenty. Its strength combined with its wits made it an admirable adversary.

It ran with the bait, first left then right, pulling the line with tremendous ferocity, bending the rod like a strong man bending a spoon. The fish was bigger and more powerful than he could have imagined beforehand, and he pulled it in foot by foot. His brother had gone into the water with the landing net to await the fish. From his vantage point in the water he could start to discern the size of the fish as the young man was reeling it in, “It’s huge!” he shouted.
The young man fought with the fish for the principle; life or the prize. The fish desired his life; the young man desired the prize. This was the deciding moment, one had to win, one had to loose. The rod bent before the power of the fish, the fish was gradually succumbing to the will of the man with the rod. The essence was in balance. The power of man and beast, in perfect harmony. Neither gave way, neither expected the other to give way. They fought, strength of man against the wit for survival, the desire of the conqueror against the strength of free nature. The rod bent, the fish fought without ever growing weaker, the young man reeled in the fish slowly, the fish fought for every inch. They fought between a line that was ever growing tauter, the rod bent, the fish pulled. The young man’s arms were aching, but he gave no thought to giving up, and if the fish was growing weak he showed no sign of it. No, he was not, the line was as taut as ever, the tension as sharp as at the start. The young man and the big fish were going to battle it out to the end.

The rod bent and the line pulled, the fish gave powerful jerks. It pulled, it pulled, as the young man held on. It was coming closer. Little by little it was coming closer, but still it jerked and pulled the line with increasing strength. The young man fought it, he wanted this fish. The fish pulled.

“I’ve almost got it, just reel it in a little more.” His brother shouted from the water “His massive, just a bit more….”. And the young man reeled the fish in slowly, but as suddenly as the fish had stuck, the line went slack. He had lost the fish; he had lost the big one. The moment was gone. The fish was free, the angler caught in eternal disappointment. Balance was restored, for the one, but not the other.

“He’s gone.” The young man said. “What?” said his brother. “He’s gone.” He repeated. Soon, the night was quiet again.

Chapter 3.

The young man fished a while there after and then stopped, the big one had eluded him and he would perhaps never hook one like that again, not if he lived to be a hundred years. Not every fisherman hooks a fish like that in his life. But he had, and he had lost it.

He would never forget that night, that struggle for the principle, that tension, that perfection. The young man and the fish; one. The rod, the line the hook; one. The thrill of that powerful fish against the strength of the young man. Never again.

But who knows, maybe one night, if the dam-god accepts his offerings, he will hook that big one again. Relive the glory of the battle and feel the strong rod bend in his hands. Who knows…one night…