Then and now

Sneaky!

It was the 18th April 1999. Guy and I were fishing the uMngeni on Brigadoon, on what my fishing log describes as “Blacks Water”. That was the section of river above the confluence of the Furth Stream, and at some time not long past, it had been the farm of John Black, and if memory serves, Derek Fly had bought it or taken it over, and its length was now added to the beat known to us as Brigadoon. At that time all the riverside lands from the Furth confluence up to Picnic Pool were planted to maize, and the

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Marathons, Trout and glamour. Be inspired.

Rogan and I were discussing the nature of flyfishing as a sport while we walked along an overgrown river bank recently. Our topic is difficult to define, but I don’t think Rogan would disagree if I said that we were both bemoaning the low number of entrants to this thing who are able to embrace the ordinary, the uncomfortable, the companionable, the day without winners, and the less than glamorous.  People happy to embrace adventure complete with failure and no social media exposure. People content to learn by trying instead of waiting for a Youtube video.  People who fashion something

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