If the previous day had been a day for the dry fly, Sunday morning promised to be a day for the nymph. I had gathered from a few sources that Korrie is a bit of a “nymph nut” and this quickly became evident when he took charge of my leader, snipping away here, adding there, and tying on a hot pink spring coil indicator. On to the point and dropper were tied two tungsten nymphs from Korrie’s box (after he had looked a little disdainfully through the slimmer pickings of my nymph box). I was also shown the Pitzen knot which Korrie assured me is stronger and quicker to tie than most other knots and indeed, it looked much quicker to tie than the improved clinch knot I use. Korrie struck me as a no frills, no fuss fisherman with a wealth of experience gained not only through his own experiences but also from fishing in the company of some of Europe’s finest proponents of nymph fishing. More importantly, Korrie was eager to teach and I was all ears.
Thin, wispy clouds hung tentatively in the still air, as if they expected a wind to whip up and push them on their way, but none came that morning. It was cool and the air still crisp when we walked down to the river and started fishing at about 7am. Korrie briefly illustrated the short cast/tight line method we would adopt for most of the morning and then handed me the reins. It was a slow start, with nothing to show from the first stretch of pocket water and this seemed to surprise Korrie.
We fished through the pocket water and came to a pool where trout were sipping mayflies with something of a reckless abandon. Off came the nymphs and on went a small CDC mayfly pattern. I must have lined and spooked about two or three fish at the tail of the pool, my range not up to scratch. This got Korrie excitable and his language turned somewhat colourful. It spurred me on to better things as I finally got a cast spot on, right up against a bank and some leafy tree fronds where we had seen a fish show itself, and up it came to engulf the fly. I struck too soon and the fly did not set. Cue more exotic language.
Fortunately, I made swift amends and this time it was with the nymph. I saw the spring coil of the indicator expand just a fraction and lifted the rod into a fish. Korrie beamed from ear to ear.
We alternated our approach to suit the water, my rod for the dry fly stuff and Korrie’s 10 foot rod rigged up with two nymphs, and I had an enjoyable morning fishing up the beat. We each picked up a few fish along the way. When faced with a choice of method (with no obvious sign of rising fish) I opted to choose the nymph rod to continue picking Korrie’s brain on the technique.
I lost what felt to be two good fish in succession on the nymph rod. The language again turned spicy. Both were hooked right where you would expect them, either just in front or behind a boulder with a little escape hole washed out from under them for the fish to flee into at the first sign of danger. I did have better joy with the dry fly at least, later catching two little jewels.
Perhaps the biggest smile of the day came to Korrie’s face in a moment of nymph vindication. I had unsuccessfully tried to tempt a rising fish to take three or four different patterns of dry fly. The fish then ceased to rise and I confidently concluded that it had been spooked, so I suggested we move up river. Korrie said “let me try the nymph” and as I was looking at my feet reeling in my excess line I heard Korrie exclaim triumphantly and saw his rod bending to the pressure of a fish. He was pleased as punch that his nymph had prevailed over my dry flies. I learned another valuable lesson. It’s not over until the fat lady sings or, perhaps more pertinently, until she has a final lob with a nymph.
I had fun and learned a great deal. Whilst we spooked a good number of fish I was surprised how close we could get with a reasonably stealthy approach. Fish were typically caught less than 12 feet away from our boots in water as transparent as cling film.
On the walk back to the car following the verge of the highway high up over the river, we could see trout going crazy in the pools. Literally hundreds of fish rising to a hatch in a boiling, seething feeding orgy. I have never seen so many fish in a river all at one time.
After years of wanting to fish the Smalblaar I was not disappointed. I was captivated by the river and its trout and the experience was made all the more unforgettable by my two obliging hosts. Sure, I didn’t fish the best I could but I picked up a few new skills and caught some lovely looking trout. On the drive back to civilisation I decided to forego the tunnel through the mountains and took the old Jan du Toit’s Kloof pass over them. Feeling perfectly relaxed and content after two memorable days of fishing, I took it slow, not wanting my Cape fishing experience to end, and enjoyed the stunning views of Paarl and Table Mountain along the way.
|Table Mountain is just discernible in the far distance|