Mighty oaks from little acorns grow

I was blessed with an innocent and happy childhood in the tiny African nation of Swaziland. Much of it was spent adventuring in the outdoors - for there wasn't much else to do. A significant part of it was spent fishing and that early foundation has stayed with me into adult life, influencing much of who I am today. I can't imagine a life without fly fishing now.

I say Swaziland, but two years ago the king, the last absolute monarch in Africa and one of only a remnant handful in the world, changed the name of the country to eSwatini, seemingly on a whim to avoid diplomatic confusion with another landlocked country 9,000 km away in Europe - Switzerland. The old name is far too ingrained in me to make it an easy change.

A decade ago I jotted down some childhood memories of fishing in Swaziland. A treasure trove of old photos from my childhood has since emerged and given me a happy trip down memory lane. This post stands as a belated addendum of sorts.

I was also reminded of my first fishing memory - possibly from around 1989 or 1990. The Managing Director of the pulp mill enjoyed the use of a large, stately home known as Qwabiti. It was built on the edge of a yawning cliff in an isolated part of the forest, with spectacular views of the lowveld to the east. Not far down the hill from the mansion was A4 dam and in those days, before the advent of the fly fishing club, it was reserved for the exclusive use of the MD. The MD at the time was Dugald Black, and he was a very keen fly fisherman. My mother, speaking to the kindly but perhaps unwitting Mrs Black, happened to mention that we enjoyed a spot of fishing and Mrs Black readily offered the use of A4 dam to us for a day. "Go along and enjoy yourselves. Dugald won't mind at all." 

Like children the night before Christmas, we arrived and excitedly set about the place with our short spinning rods and lures. I don't recall any initial success, for the water of A4 was perhaps the clearest of all the dams in the forest and the trout would have seen us like glowing beacons. As evening fell and the sky turned crimson pink we cooked a lovely dinner on the bank of the dam on a gas skottel braai. With the meal over and the night having descended upon us, my dad replaced the shallow grill pan on the portable gas BBQ with a lamp, and the black night air was pierced by its dazzling light. The light attracted all manner of flying insects including moths and flying ants and before long we heard the noisy splashes of trout feeding on them. And then the most magical half hour of fishing ensued. The fish, in something of a feeding frenzy near our bank, snatched at our Rapala lures with gleeful abandon, and we reeled in trout after trout in the 4 to 7 lb range. What fun! In those days, we killed our catch too, and we went home with bags of trout for the freezer. It was innocent fun and a happy family moment of joy and togetherness. 

My mother, equally unwittingly, happened to tell kindly Mrs Black about our success and also the mode of our catch, and Mrs Black relayed this information to her husband. Mr Black apparently went apoplectic with rage, for his dam was fly fishing only, and he painstakingly visited it to feed the trout - which he viewed as his pets - with pellets so that they would grow large. Needless to say, we were never invited back whilst Mr Black remained MD! Who could blame him too.

Not long after the arrival of a new, non fishing MD, A4 dam was opened up to company staff and their families and then, a while later, to a newly formed fly fishing club which opened membership to the public. In 2003 or 2004 I heard that a chap I knew, about my age, was caught by the Forest Guard swimming in the dam in full scuba gear and armed with a spear gun! A lifetime ban followed for the industrious fellow.

Fond memories, indeed.

Satellite image of A4 dam (centre bottom) and Qwabiti (centre top).

I have also recently been blessed with a healthy child. My son is eight weeks old and the memories of how I spent my childhood seem rather poignant at the moment. He will grow up in a vastly different world here in the UK - developed, urban, fast-paced and increasingly online. I hope to foster a love of the outdoors in him - and particularly an interest in fly fishing - but such things cannot be forced and I will try to develop these interests as naturally as possible. Hopefully the acorn I plant will find fertile ground. It would be lovely if - one day in the future - we can go fishing and camping together. Perhaps his own childhood fishing adventures will influence the course of his adult life, in the same way that mine was. If nothing more, I hope that he will be able to look back and reflect on happy childhood memories created whilst fishing.

Happy new year and all the best for 2021. 

With my brother at C1 dam, circa 1989/90. In those days we used short spinning rods on the trout.

Circa 1993 - my brother in the foreground with yellow cap. From the mountains in the distance this photo was probably taken on holiday in the Drakensberg, in my first year at boarding school.

My brother, on a day out in the forest. Circa 1994.

My brother fishing the margins of D2 dam, circa 1995.

My brother readies the net while I play a trout at D2 dam, circa 1995.

Float tubing on Enrich dam with an uncle, circa 1998.  

My sister at Enrich dam, circa 1998.

For many years this rainbow trout was my record catch - it weighed a little over 3 lb. Caught from B2 dam circa 1995. I was immensely proud - but it looks so small now!  

A new record rainbow for me, weighing 3½ lb (circa 1996). I caught it from B4 dam with a prince nymph, in a productive spot beneath tall pine trees. Posing proudly with my brother. 

D4 dam circa 1997/98.

Playing a trout at D4 dam circa 1997/98.

On holiday at Dunkeld Country Estate in Dullstroom, South Africa, circa 1998. Our holiday cottage is in the distance. 

A rainbow trout caught at Dunkeld Country Estate, circa 1998.

My brother and I showing off some of the trophies we won at the inaugural Usutu Forest fly fishing festival, sponsored by Bells Whiskey, circa 1998.