A fishy tale from the centre of the universe by Graham Fiford
There can be few taller stories told than those legendary fisherman’s yarns about the one that got away.
It’s widely accepted that fisherman, probably more so than any other outdoor hobbyist, aside from golfers that is, have a collective proclivity towards serious exaggeration.
In the somnambulant town of Rhodes located along the southern extremities of the Drakensberg in the Eastern Cape below the belly of Lesotho, there’s a different series of explanations as to why one should have a magnificent or indifferent day’s fishing.
In Rhodes, which is the centre of the universe for those with a penchant for pursuing feisty wild rainbow and brown trout in mountain streams, it’s all about the river conditions. For the River Gods who determine ones fishing fate it’s either that the rivers are running “too thin” or “too fat.” Rarely, in my experience, are they are said to be ideal.
In our case, we had the misfortune to arrive when the rivers were said to be “too fat”. That, as it happens, is a description that could easily be applied to me but it’s not exactly what one wants to hear when it comes to river fishing conditions.
We reached Rhodes in the midst of a serious downpour, only to be told that it had been raining just like this for most of December and January. Only months before the district had been in the grip of the worst drought in living memory. Well, if that was the case, the drought was now emphatically broken – yet another example of how Global Warming is playing havoc with people’s daily lives I suppose.
With any serious fishing totally out of the question we did the next best thing – went and scoped out the rivers we would be fishing in a more perfect world.
The River Gods must have been angry indeed. The Bell River and the Bokspruit, two of the better known trout streams, were in full spate, flowing as brown and muddy torrents with brush and other flood detritus piled high against the supports of the low level bridges we crossed. There was clearly nothing else to do but wait for the waters to subside and clear before unpacking our rods and venturing forth.
In these parts the weather is not only extreme but notoriously fickle. Happily, two days later, the morning broke clear and bright and on good advice we decided to book a beat on the headwaters of the nearby Riflespruit which runs through a verdant valley which pokes like a crooked finger into the high country of Lesotho.
As it turns out, we should have stayed in bed and slept late. Yes, the waters had cleared and the flow rate had dropped a little, but what is generally a placid gurgling mountain stream now appeared to be one better suited to white water rafting than fly fishing.
Nevertheless, we flogged the waters with a flyfishers’ indefatigable passion, throwing every fly we had in our box into the raging cauldron without success. Evidently, the River Gods were against us and the waters were still “too fat.”
Despondently we returned to that Oracle of Rhodes village, Dave Walker’s, “Walkerbouts” establishment to console ourselves with a stiff one. There we were advised to give up on river fishing and try our luck on a beautiful, pristine mountain lake, aptly named “Loch Ness” for the monster trout reputed to lurk in its depths. This famed stretch of water is situated just below the Tiffindell ski resort at the end of a tortuous track which crawls high into the mountain above Rhodes village.
Now that, to us, sounded like a better plan. So we sallied forth the next day and after an alarming ascent to the top of the mountain found ourselves along side one of the most beautiful mountain lakes we had ever seen.
Not only was Loch Ness a feast for the eyes, it also lived up to its reputation. Within a short space of time, we had hooked and released some good sized trout, the fish succumbing quite readily to some black taddy, and damselfly nymph patterns as well as suspended blood worm floated below the surface.
Certainly, after the trials and tribulations of our river fishing experience this almost seemed to be too easy. But to use another golfing analogy, it’s the challenge in fly fishing that makes the adrenaline charge and brings you time and again to these remote and inaccessible places in search of that most illusive of quarry – naturally spawning wild river trout. And for that there can be no better skill testing ground than rivers and streams of Barkly East and Rhodes.
Though trips to Rhodes are generally not lightly undertaken – it’s some 870 kilometers from Gauteng and a good nine hours of car travel to get there – we vowed that we would be back. And hopefully next time the River Gods would smile upon us.
However, before we do that we would need an impeccable source of information on river conditions. So would you if you are ever tempted to try your luck on wild river trout. And the Oracle in these matters is none other than Dave Walker of Walkerbouts Inn – Rhodes, phone 045 974 9290 or e-mail This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..