The winter challenge

Gone are the days when you could rock up at the beach, “okes” asking you…
What do you want to catch with that piece of lead and feathers? Fish eat bait, not plastic…
A couple of casts later you go tight and the confusion on the “okes” face is evident.

Putting the fish back into water he comes running…
What you doing man? I will take that fish if you don’t want it… I will even buy it from you…

Explaining to him the what’s and why’s of your decision, you release the fish, his confusion changes to ignorance… this oke clearly doesn’t understand… yet… but we will change this…

Questions have evolved as people warm up to the concept of throwing lures. For many years every lure that wasn’t a spoon was called a Rapala and sure, some of the older ballies still ask us…
Gooi jy Rapala?
Nee oom, dit is n bucktail-jig.
N wat? Laat ek eers daai ding sien. En die vis eet die ding?

Sure, some of the guys would approach us and say they have spent thousands on this thing called “dropshots”. They bought the rods, reels and even braid. They then continue to show us the scars on their fingers from braid cuts after 100’s of casts and explains how the salesman convinced him to buy all the lure colors and sizes, that “work”, but nothing. Join us for a session, let’s see where we can help…

Times have indeed changed. Targeting fish on lures use to be considered a special skill, but more and more fishermen are throwing lures and catching fish. With all the information out there, the abundance of specifically designed tackle and so many people freely sharing expertise on the matter it really has become a free-for-all and the special skill has evolved into more of a “Suzelle-braai-pie”.

So what’s the next challenge…

Early August I decided to try my hand at targeting a kobbie in the winter on lure. Now for the guys in the Eastern Cape and Kwazulu Natal this doesn’t sound like a big deal. But for me, in the Western Cape, it is a bit more of a challenge. The rivers are all full of fresh water and very dirty, so that choice is quickly ruled out, leaving the surf as the only option. Jays pulled in for the weekend; traveling all the way from KZN, appreciate it bro.

Other than the swell rising from 2 to 3 meters, coldish water of 15.6 degrees, the conditions seemed fair.

As most will be aware, you can’t just walk onto the beach in front of the parking area, throw a lure and catch a fish (or at least not with regular occurrence). There is a lot involved in identifying the right area to target; structure, wave action and accessibility to name but a few. Doing so in an area you aren’t familiar with is great fun, but this process takes some time, a luxury we unfortunately don’t always have and fishing time comes at a premium for us desk jockeys.

The first day the sea was a bit up, so we spent some time exploring one of the rivers in the area. Dead as a frozen pilchard…

Back in the surf we threw baits and managed to land a couple smaller fish. We kept busy by casting some paddletails into the gutters. I was not convinced and it didn’t take much to persuade me to head for the warmth of the house, a nice cosy fire/braai and a couple of cold ones.

The next day was a write-off due to bad weather and we spent some quality family time.

I put in leave for the Monday, Tuesday was a public holiday, but was traveling day, so fishing wasn’t really an option.

We meticulously planned our mission for Monday and hoped that the unexplored section of beach would be conducive to our intended target species. Low tide was near midday, which meant that we needed to start walking by 10 to get to the spot in time to fish the hour before low. The prediction was that the swell would drop during the day and be pretty small by the evening, Tuesday would be prefect, typical…

The turnoff to the area we would fish gave a great view over the bay and we estimated that it was probably a 2-3 kilometers stretch of beach we needed to cover. We would make our way to the middle, assess the prospects and then make a call on whether to continue or work our way back to holes we passed.

To our disappointment the beach was pretty filled up with sand. There was some deep water at the back, but the strong side wash coming from the shallows would make it nearly impossible to reach, let alone hold a bait.

We had walked for about 30 minutes when we reached a spot called “Rooi bankies”, about midway along the beach. The side wash was just silly and even though it is quite a well-known spot, the sand had filled up behind the rocks and we weren’t feeling it.

We decided to venture onward to the end of the beach to where the big rocky point started. (Also known as “Veg-kop”)

About 150m (or a solid 8 iron) before the end of the beach we stumbled upon some scattered reef in the water. The formation looked better and we decided that we will have a few casts here.

Jays baited up some white mussel and sand prawn in search of the elusive steamtrain or the more common galjoen. I studied the water formation using a small dune as vantage point. There was a nice bank running at the back, a deep trough and then the shallows where I could cast from. I would need to get wet to get the lure into the strike zone, it was 18 degrees outside and the water was pretty cold…

Skeptical about the prospects I considered just baiting up and targeting one of the winter species, but being a lure fisherman at heart, and seeing as this was my intended challenge, I decided to have at least a couple of casts with a lure before taking the easy way out.

I rigged up a paddletail and decided that I would fish it really slowly along the bottom. With a bit of wading and a few second guesses as the waves struck my chest and I struggled to breathe, I managed to get the lure into the intended strike zone. With each cast my body became more accustomed to the temperatures and the anticipation started to build. Familiar feelings of excitement kept the adrenaline pumping and helped me combat the cold.

A few winds into a retrieve I felt my lure suddenly stop. As I lifted my rod tip I could feel the pressure and a bit of give, but there were none of those distinctive head-shakes. What did I hook into, a ray or skate, seaweed perhaps?

With much effort I managed to win back most of my line when suddenly close to the side my lure popped out of the water, dangling entangled to some other fishing line in the water.

The lure was out of reach and I really didn’t feel like going for a full-on swim. After a few minutes of shaking and tugging, I eventually decided try pull it lose. Unfortunately, this resulted in my line parting and a lost lure. I am not too concerned about the monetary aspect of losing a lure, but more about the environmental impact of another piece of lead and plastic deposited into the ocean; I hate losing a lure.

Cold and annoyed I pondered the option of continuing with lures, the water still looked promising, and the few seconds of uncertainty when hooking into the snagged line had familiar feelings rushing back. One more round with the lure, this time a bucktail-jig. I decided to move a few meters to the right, where the hole was a little shallower, but at least this would be away from where I had just broken off.

I whipped the lure as far as I could and started my usual retrieve. The water was a bit lower and I could focus more on my retrieve and lure control as opposed to trying to breathe and keep my balance. A cast toward the back of the deeper hole landed on the edge of the sandbank where the foamy water rolled into the deeper hole, the sweet spot. I took up the slack and lifted the rod tip, dropped the tip again and took up the slack. On my third or fourth lift the rod tip bent and this time I felt a bump bump at the end of the line. Jays who was about 50 meters away got such a fright when I shouted with excitement. WOOHOO, ON! (So did the people other side the mountain…)

I could feel it wasn’t a big fish, but I didn’t care. It was middle of winter and I was throwing lures in the surf and had just hooked up! My initial thoughts were that it might be an elf. I have found that the smaller kob tend to fight a lot like elf in the first few seconds after being hooked up. Please don’t bite me off I thought, better keep the pressure on.

The fight didn’t last very long and soon the fish was in the shallows. Now to only get him nose forward in a wave and the fight would be over. A wave pushed over the bank and I had him, applying the last bit of pressure he surfed ever so gently to the front of my feet.

By now Jays had arrived with the camera to take a quick pic or two. I was smiling from ear to ear. Not my biggest kob by a long-shot, but one of the most rewarding.

We measured the fella and then sent the 56 centimeter kobbie swimming back to his mates in the water. He was in great condition, a real fatty.

Soon the water was low and we had a big decision to make. Look for a place to target on the low while making our way back, or stick around for the push. We decided to head back… nothing looked promising….

We regretted not having waited for the tide to push again, but it was one of those calls you had to make and then just move on. None the less, I had had my fix, be it a small one. This proved that the kob are around all year, even if it is just a bit harder to catch them.

The first myth was busted in December when we caught kob in crystal clear waters and now the winter success.

Things are looking good for the future. If we can keep motivating fishermen to release most of their catches we are in for many many more years of great fun spent at the water.

Oh ja, no more winter lure blanking blues for me…