A week or so back, a lady pulled over on the roadside where I was working at the tailgate of my bakkie, and told me I was “sexy”. Tomorrow I will be in a meeting with a work colleague who has received multiple death threats for his environmental work. These things currently set the outer boundaries of the breadth of life at the moment. The enormity of what lies between sometimes has me reaching out to a nearby tree trunk to steady myself, sitting down, or turning the music off to think. Then there are people I know having a very public go at each other on social media.
That off beat comedian, Bailey, once did a skit about the literal translation of the term “all things considered”, the true span of which he unpacks for us to help us appreciate the absurdity. Well, all things considered…and yes Bailey, I do mean all things….I shall turn my thoughts to waders.
I am not referring to Spoonbills, Galunkies and Cranes, although that would be an equally meritorious escape. No. I refer to the things we wear to keep dry.
Back in the day, us students considered those who wore waders to be toffs. I think that was borne mainly out of unbridled envy for those who could afford them, and we told ourselves that wading wet in July was fine.
We did however hasten to acquire some waders the moment our financial fortunes allowed. Kev got himself a big black rubber pair, which looked like an oversized condom, and in which I think you could have safely cooked yourself in the hot African sun, without setting fire to the grass.
Brett bought a pair of “Red Ball” chest waders which were too small for him, and I remember him waddling uncomfortably across a field towards the water on a hot day and saying that he now knew where the name came from.
I elevated myself to true toff status by flying to the States and coming back with a magnificent pair of rubberized canvas waders, which I like to believe were the envy of my pals for years. But they were so heavy that you would think wearing them would have built muscle befitting of that recent epitaph bestowed upon me at the roadside. It did not. They were just hard work.
So with all this valuable experience, and with the music turned off and a hand steadying me against the closest tree, I have given a lot of thought to waders.
Until recently, I had my bases covered with a pair of entry level neoprenes for float tubing in autumn, winter and spring, and a pair of breathables for summer float tubing and shore wading for the seasons either side of that. I still have those. Colleagues complain that those entry level neoprenes are a curse and start leaking when you take them out of the packet, but I seem to have had more luck than that. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I know what a bramble looks like, and dry them in the shade away from the fridge motor. Likewise, along with a few mates, I bought a pair of [relatively] inexpensive breathables that outlasted theirs by about the lifespan of a Galunkie. Knowing, however, that all things come to an end (Yes Bailey…all things), I hastened to capitalize on a new product launch sale and bought a pair of Frontier’s breathables while the others were still in play, and put them on ice. Those are now in service, and while my fear of a red ball may have seen me choose a size larger than my aforementioned slender (but sexy) frame demands, they are all good.
But these waders I refer to, the ones we wear that is, are both chest waders. Chest waders are a swine to get in and out of; We seldom wade deep enough to justify their full length; and even the breathable ones are as hot as hell in an African summer. So I have been sitting down and thinking a lot lately , about waders.
It occurred to me that many of those blokes we envied as students were wearing thigh waders. Hip waders. Back then, float tubing hadn’t quite come to South Africa, and so chest waders had failed to dominate the scene. Free of that distraction, the blokes had bought what worked for their shore flyfishing.
Fast track to today, and I find myself taking the float tube out a little less often and embracing good old bank fishing a whole lot more. But we have modern materials now, and don’t have to labour under the weight of what those old guys (and this one), once had to cart around. The other thing I thought about, is that boot foot waders always seem to some apart at the join between the boot and the more flexible legging material. And, added to that, I have a perfectly good pair of wading boots.
With all these things considered, it came to me that I couldn’t do without a new pair of waders. One to make up the traid, and cover all the bases. That was it!
What I couldn’t do without was a pair of waders that are:
- Boot foot
- Breathable
- Hip length
I searched the internet, and then I stopped in at a local tackle shop to discuss the matter. I suggested that they might consider importing such a thing as part of their range (since I am not planning to visit the States any time soon). The proprietor said he thought I was being very “traditional”. I think that was his way of calling me a toff.
So I slunk home, trolled social media and the internet and found three retailers of these things. One was in the aforementioned country which I shan’t be visiting, and the other two had the same phone number in Shanghai, but were somewhat less ‘tariffed’. So I drew in my breath, steadied myself against said tree, and defied my financial fortunes.
I have had them a few months now, and worn them enough that I am ready to deliver comment. These things are the business! They are easy to pull on and off. They weigh next to nothing. They roll up in a tiny bundle. They are not at all sweaty to wear, even when you end up not entering the cool water. There’s a lady somewhere who thinks they look ok (I have evidence). And nothing is in danger of turning red.
I really am delighted. I was telling PD about how damned good they are the other day as he was pulling in fish after fish, wearing his wet boots and pants. And while my fish catching prowess didn’t exactly set fire to the grass that day, I am going to rush down to the tackle shop now to tell that toff that he missed a good opportunity. Or perhaps I’ll save the diesel and just have a go at him on social media.
