Fanie’s is a very nice spot. It has a laid-back scruffy charm that reminds us of our camping days at Second Beach at Port St. Johns. The people staying here are mainly Afrikaans, and all very pleasant and friendly. There is no security problem whatsoever. Rods and equipment are left in the boats at night and the only reason we close doors is to keep the monkeys out. We are constantly visited by Warthogs in the day and Bush Pigs at night.
What’s for breakfast?
Scavange Patrol
We left off our last missive with Jean cleaning up the fish with a hand line. Forget the hand line – the next day we had to do an emergency run into St. Lucia to kit out with a proper rod and coffee grinder. Since then we have fed ourselves quite adequately. (But more on that to come!)
Half our day is spent on the water pulling in the odd bream and keeping a wary eye open for the local croc population. Last week we had one eager chappy who having had no luck with a heron he was stalking decided to give us a closer inspection. As he got nearer to us, so he got lower and lower in the water. Eventually only an eye would pop up now and then, like a periscope. Discretion being the better part of valour, we decided that the fishing might be better elsewhere…..
“Misafi II” does not quite fit into the regular water transport scene here. The norm is the sleek macho mean machine with a 40 hp (or more) outboard bristling with rods, lights and fish finders. Our inflatable canoe and 3 hp Seagull is looked on with some wry amusement. BUT ……. MISAFI HAD HER DAY!.
Mike Brown came up to spend last weekend with us, and he and Sean set off to catch our Saturday meal.
Fishing was not good and the Nondis (miniature Kob), were a pain in the backside. The scene went a little like this :-
Mike: “Damn, I’ve got another Bloody Nondi!. “
“Hang on, it might be a bit bigger than the last one” “What’s going on….. it’s pulling a bit”
” Oh Shiiiiiit!!!”
Mike’s line (3.5 kg on a small rod and small Scarborough) takes off in a very determined manner indeed. The next half hour (or longer. we’re not quite sure), became very interesting. The fish went round the boat, under the boat, and 100 times around the anchor line. All accompanied by much activity and cursing.
It is unwise to try to stand up in Misafi and changing positions is therefore a little complicated. Some of the contortions made the Karma Sutra seem quite tame. Eventually the damn thing got tired and we were able to see it (a Kob about the size of a U Boat). Then came the next minor problem. My trout net was not going to be much use and we had no gaff.
Mike:
“When it gets near grab it by the gills”
“But don’t touch the line..don’t touch the line”
“Oh Shiiiiiit!!!!”
Fish has now decided that it does not want to be grabbed by the gills and it is really not tired after all. Another round of circuits and bumps. In the mean time, Sean seemed to remember a story about it being unwise to stick one’s hand into a fishes gills as there were sometimes sharp bits that could do harm to a young lads fingers. This he kept to himself as Mike had problems of his own. Eventually the Kob succumbed to Mike’s very expert handling and Mike (Sean feeling that it only fair that he had the honours), grabbed him by the gills and heaved him on board.
Another interesting situation. There was not much room in Misafi, and with one skilful movement the fish managed to kick Mike and butt Sean in the nether regions at the same time. A Kob’s head is very hard.
We beached Misafi and Jean arrived with camera, but we had no scale. No problem for Jean, (who had been praying for this sort of opportunity) she goes off to the camp along the way from us – the camp with 3 power boats, 14 rods, 8 hard arsed fishermen, and no fish to speak of – and asks if she can borrow their scale, as ours is “too small”. Mike’s fish weighed just over 11 kgs, was 1.1 m long and 27 cms wide. There was much muttering in the camp about a Blerry Engelse, on a Lilo, with all the luck. Anyway we ate very well, and hopefully Mike’s tennis elbows will get better before the Millennium.
Mike and his Kob. Misafi II in foreground. Lady Hawke was the opposition
Fishing became a bit of an anti-climax after that, except for a small incident the next day when we found a scorpion in our anchor cable bag – we were in the middle of the lake – more scrabbling around and cursing which ended up with a long swim for the scorpion.
Now we’re going to try for the big stuff at Cape Vidal, or, on the other hand we might just eat mussels.