Being a fly fisherman puts one on farm properties more often than many of our city dwelling compatriots. Having grown up a farmer’s son, and shared the family banter about city visitors, I have a level of consciousness around being an inconspicuous visitor on a farm; a trait I don’t often detect in fishing pals.
When the bakkie starts to slide towards a mud bank as I try to slip off the farm relatively un-noticed, or at least without having made a nuisance of myself, I find myself cursing between gritted teeth, with a sense of dread.
When the instruction includes closing of a gate, I find myself going to some lengths to wire the thing closed to the extent that there can be no doubt. When given directions to the river, I listen intently, and if the opportunity presents itself, I study google earth, and on the way in I am noting hill shapes, landscape features and pitfalls.
I am mindful of my Dad’s story in which he arrived very late at his parent’s dinner party, where a guest asked “And where have you been young man?” blissfully unaware that Dad was the character driving the tractor which had just towed him out in the dark and the rain. Just last week, a group of Kamberg farmers related tales of how they pull summer-time cars out of the mud for visitors who seem to assume that they are part of some government towing service to which they are entitled, without thought to a tip, let alone a thank-you. Just two months back I had to call for a farmer’s help when a swarm of bees occupied my vehicle, preventing me from getting back into it, and robbing me of the opportunity to drive away without embarrassment.
On one occasion it went completely pear shaped when I set out to a farm to rescue a fishing buddy with a flat battery, only to find that with the storm breaking and daylight fading, my vehicle wouldn’t engage four wheel drive, and neither would his one jump or pull start. I still cringe about how our extraction involved two attempts by the farmer, and I don’t know about him, but we got to bed around 1 am.
Suffice it to say, when it says “close the gate”, or “4 X 4 only”, no matter the way in which the message is conveyed, I find myself taking it rather seriously.
