I am starting to write this before I go to the hospital, as I may not have access to my computer before the normal publication time on Friday. As for those who read my blog, I have had a year of surgeries. It seems that no sooner do I come out of one than there is another in line. So rather than going back in time to 1994, I thought I would write about what I would rather be doing than sitting in hospital.
Fishing has been my favourite pastime and throughout my life, I have always had fishing in my sights, even if just in a local river or dam. In fact, we, Rozanne and I, along with my daughter Storm and her partner Duncan, and the Tideys are planning a Bluefin tuna fishing trip on the 7th of July in the Algarve. Last year we hooked some large fish with Zhao, a local restaurateur landing a three hundred kilogram fish. The question is will I be fit enough to go and at least watch? There is no way I will be able to land the fish, but even when I am fit it is usual for me to be the spectator while others in the boat catch fish. I enjoy fishing and catching. I also enjoy it but it often eludes me. I suppose the exception was bream on Kariba and game fish in Mozambique.
As my life unfolded there were always certain waters I favoured as venues. As a child living on Mull the River Ba was below our house and as the estate had fishing rights I spent many an evening fishing that water, often bringing a couple of trout home for supper. Salmon alluded me but it should be said since my childhood and like my brother, we got sick of eating salmon as the estate netted a pool every second day in season and while the fish were sold to local hotels, salmon or preferably sea trout were common fare on our table throughout the summer. It was rarely eaten hot unlike the trout, rather cold with fresh green and potato salads. As my brother will assure you, not the favourite fare for growing boys. In summer we also caught what was known as ‘cuddies’, small saithe, fishing from the rocks on the shores of Loch na Keal. Also delicious when fried in oatmeal. On reflection, we were given so much freedom as a child in those days fishing from slippery rocks, especially below Killiemore where you had to climb down cliffs to get to the best spots. Parents would probably get arrested if they allowed their pre-teens to do similar nowadays. Even when in Campbeltown I would fish with a hand line of one of my peers rarely catching a mackerel. The Crichtons fished for mackerel and I was lucky enough to be taken by Rory Crichton, who worked on the estate, mackerel fishing. This would be a special treat and they made delicious smoked mackerel which my father looked down his nose at while I devoured copious quantities when available. I do not think he wanted to tell the Crichtons he disliked them so there was always plenty for me. As I got older, they must have learned of my father's dislike as the supply suddenly dried up before I got to my teens.
We fished when we could in the merchant navy, catching tropical reef fish on the East African coast. While anchored off Tanga, the Indian night watchman caught the biggest fish, other than a shark I had ever seen, a grouper, which, although unweighted, must have weighed a hundred kilograms at least. It dwarfed its catcher's fifty-five-kilogram frame. This wetted my fishing appetite to try for something bigger than the colourful reef fish but never did catch anything to boast about.
On leaving the merchant navy and going to college and then moving to Zimbabwe for the first four years there was little time for fishing due to army commitments. In 1978 when Darwendale Dam, which provided ten kilometres of our farm boundary, filled my fishing obsession returned. My two immediate neighbours John Gordon and Clem Bruk-Jackson would take to the dam in search of Rendeli which seemed to flourish in the newly filled dam. Flying termites were our bait of choice, our deep freezes often holding a year's supply. Then we started to catch Nembwe, yellow-bellied bream, and the odd tiger fish. A few years later, after the bass was introduced, this became our target species. Unfortunately, Clem had passed by then but his son Desmond and a new neighbour Henry Bezuidenhout became my fishing companions. Henry introduced me to the Zambezi River and another not-so-close neighbour,r Francis Rossier, introduced me to Kariba fishing. We used to hire a boat from Kariba Breezes and would spend our day arguing over what species to target. His favoured was bream, mine tigerfish. After all, I could catch bream at home.
Shortly after Independence another neighbour, Chris Bell, introduced me to boat charters where a number of us, on occasion with wives, would hire one of the boats for a five-day trip. Our favoured boat was the Sabi Star. Eventually Chris and myself along with some partners from Harare boat our own boat The Shenga. This became our holiday home of choice, with our children from an early age spending our holidays on Kariba. Unlike going to the beach in South Africa it did not require two weeks off the farm to make it worthwhile. Game viewing while you fished was an added attraction as was a night at the casino before departure. Those were the days.
Henry Bezuidenhout also introduced me to Zambezi River fishing, where, in the early days, encounters with wildlife added to the excitement. I even bought a share in a house at Mongwe Fishing Camp, although by that time, the Commercial Farmers Union duties precluded me from spending much time there.
There were two ‘boys only’ fishing trips that became the highlight of my year. One was on Kariba, organised by the late Micky Tanner. About twenty of us would hire a ferry, and with the small boats loaded on the ferry, we would head up the lake with three large boats towed behind. These were wonderful trips, with some South Africans joining us. For many years, my favoured fishing mate on my boat was Henry Aucock, a vet from Natal. Although I became friendly with many of the participants or knew most Neville Baker from the Middle Sabi also became a fishing mate and this extended onto an annual fishing trip to the Zambezi which included Keith Holland from Mutare and Gravy Scott from Chipenge. We would stay at one of the National Park's fishing camps. These ‘boys' fishing trips’ became engraved in my calendar and could only be missed under exceptional circumstances.
I had been to Magaruque in the eighties but as we flew in I thought it a regular fishing venue a step too far. Flying was the only option as on the mainland the civil war was at its height. Then in 1997, there was a seismic change to my fishing when John Meikle invited myself and Des Bruk-Jackson to go fishing at his rustic lodge in Pemane in Inhambane Province in Mozambique. We travelled by vehicle, a long trip then because of the state of the roads. We caught little that trip, Des caught a turtle, but it whetted my appetite for deep sea fishing and from about 2002, Rozanne, our children and I would annually go deep sea fishing at Inhassoro, first staying at Beach Lodge, then Poconut and later at Dugong with Caron and Martin Ousterhousen as our hosts. Even armed uprisings would not deter our annual trip down there, which some years had to be taken under army escort as ambushes on the road were commonplace.
Once we moved to Zambia due to circumstances, we would find time to visit the river with Mvuu, owned by the Brannigans, a favoured destination. The Brannigans, also ex-Zimbabwe farmers became good friends of ours in Zambia despite Bret belittling my fishing skills while on the river.
So yes, I would much rather be setting off for Kariba, the Zambezi, or the Bazaruto Archipelago than going to the hospital.
This short blog does not give justice to the enjoyable times we had in these places under the guise of fishing. Catching the odd fish was always a bonus. Any one of our trips could fill many pages detailing our adventures, and to be honest at times misadventures.
“So yes I would rather go fishing than undergo surgery this week, but in truth, I am sure that could be said about non-fishermen as well.” - Peter McSporran
Medical update. The surgery, three and a half hours, went well with three lesions and their adjoining intestine removed. I am writing this paragraph from the hospital. As my excellent surgeon, Dr. Monteiro informs me, like the first time he has removed all which makes me, stomach cancer-free but like what happened before it may return. Like me, he hopes not but with cancer, there are no guarantees but as it is slow growing in the event of returning it could take quite a number of years before further intervention is required. My departure from hospital is delayed as as yet my intestinal functions have not fully returned. I am very lucky in both my medical care and medium-term prognosis. Evida.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
Hope your recovery goes well. Reall enjoy the blog as it brings back many happy memories