Well since we have been here, the wind has not allowed us to do much fishing. The first two days would have been OK, but Bruce Cook and Irené de Klerk, our charter operators at Bruce Cook Fishing had other clients. Equally, after three days of travel, we were happy to chill out in the beautiful weather. Then Saturday, the wind got up and we cancelled that day to go fishing but snuck out on Sunday into rough seas. Very uncomfortable for us, who have not been fishing for a while. Lost our sea legs! Nobody was sick although my daughter Storm informed us on returning in the late afternoon she had been very close. We were trolling for Marlin or other game fish with Kona lures, skip baits and swimming baits. We did hook a small tuna and what looked like a good size Wahoo, which took a lot of line with Storm on the rod. Both times to no avail as the sharks were prolific and ate both fish before they reached the boat. On Thursday return to finer weather, no marlin but Rozanne caught and released a sailfish. Another boat close by, most unusual, hooked up 600lbs+ marlin, giving a magnificent show of iridescent power as it jumped. It pulled the hook after 30 minutes, relieving me of my fish envy.
The area around the Bazaruto Archipelago was declared a Marine National Park in 1971 prior to Mozambique’s Independence. The Archipelago in those days was a favoured holiday getaway for fair weather South Africans and Rhodesians. For fishermen in the region, it was the ultimate sea sport fishing destination, with many Rhodesians travelling down in their battered old vehicles and generally questionable seaworthy fishing boats. Unfortunately with independence and civil wars in the 70s and 80s, only a few hardened fishermen ventured to the area by private plane. I first visited in 1987 when we flew into Magaruque to attend a fishing competition sponsored by our insurance company. The roads were still unsafe during the civil war due to frequent ambushes. In the early 90s when we were allowed to travel with agreement between the warring parties, I came down with John Meikle, Des Bruk-Jackson, my neighbour in Darwendale along with two Tengwe farmers to Pomene, which is further south. The roads were atrocious and not completely safe. You could not leave the road as there were many uncleared landmines. This trip was rough and ready, living in palm leaf shelters and cooking over an open fire with a plough disc. We were beach fishing and caught nothing other than some small fish, although Des played a turtle on the end of his line for nearly an hour before it broke off.
I started to come back down after finishing with the CFU and from 2002 until we left Africa in 2017, we came down every year. The last time we were here was in 2018, before Covid-19.
We have stayed at a number of lodges over the years, many times at Club Poconut owned by Pete van Deventer, my late father-in-laws boss after he had to move to Harare having been forced off his farm. Not only did Pete give us access to the lodge, he also allowed us to use his boat. So very generous of him and his wife Kate. They certainly looked after my father-in-law Bob.
Why come all the way here to look for marlin you may ask? Simple. Every year between September and January the magnificent Black Marlin comes to spawn here in and around the Archipelago. Striped and Blue Marlin also visit during this time. Many Black Marlin exceeds 1,000lbs. Our late fishing friend, Johnny Harel, who we used to charter, broke the all Africa record in 1998 with a 1,298lb monster. Nowadays everyone tries to release the marlin as quickly as possible, so few are landed. When I fished with Martin and Vernon some three years ago Roger McDonald and his team caught a 900lb+, the largest I have personally seen.
Some trivia: A Black Marlin female can lay up to 40 million eggs.
As an aside if you are feeling like an interesting documentary about the ocean, try “My Octopus Teacher.” We watched it while we waited for the weather to clear. It was exceedingly interesting with great photography.
African Parks took over the management of the Bazaruto Archipelago park in 2017. Coupled with their management skills and financial resources there has been a marked improvement in the conservation management of the park. For instance, there is now believed to be as many as 325 dugongs, up from 200 in the early 2000s. The dugong population in the greater Bazaruto region is considered to be the last viable population in the Western Indian Ocean region. I have only ever seen a fleeting view of one, my family have been luckier. Martin and Caron, our hosts, however, said the other day they saw a “nutcluster” of some 14 Dugongs, many youngsters. Such a unique sighting.
The Bazaruto Archipelago is a wonderful place for a holiday. It is a beautiful unspoiled spot.
Call-Up
Life continued on the farm. I had met a couple of young teachers from Lilfordia School, which was right next door to where I lived. They seemed transient, or maybe they just avoided me after a couple of meetings. The fare I offered in my bachelor quarters, which were not salubrious, was not for the faint-hearted. My future good friend, the late John Gordon showed me a reference letter he was given by a prospective cook which could be a referral suitable for my cook at the time. I will call him Henry, it reads thus.
"To whom it concerns.
We are sorry in having to let Henry go as his skills in producing meals are beyond my wife’s comprehension. John would be better suited for a bachelor with both a strong stomach and a strong padlock on his pantry. We wish him well in his future employment and our sympathies to his future employer”
Also, I had not got a vehicle or the cash to take them into the nightspots in Salisbury. I prefer this to be the reasons for the short liaisons rather than my looks and conversation. I did however get introduced to the daughter of close friends of my Rhodesian surrogate parents, the Foxes. I will use her first name only. Her name was Janice, she was studying an economics degree with UNISA. On my weekends off we managed a couple of nights out in town. Other than for drinks and a meal, on occasion we did go to La Boheme where for Rh$10 a couple could have a meal, drinks, enjoy dancing and a rudimentary floor show. The singers and comedians came mostly from South Africa, the bands were local, no discos in those days, occasionally a stripper. Two local ladies appeared often in Salisbury venues in those days. Tina and Zilla, the latter I got to know through mutual family friends in later life. Of course, stripping in Rhodesia was a far cry from the acts of the same name in Soho, London. I also learned that Rhodesians absolutely loved to sing the most ridiculous song I thought, “My Ding-a-Ling.” This was a Chuck Berry hit in 1972, do not ask why the Rhodesians, when enjoying themselves, loved to sing it whenever they could in nightclubs, even dinner dances.
Anyway, no sooner had I met Janice than I received my call up papers. No possibility of deferment this time as the struggle for independence was becoming much more vicious, fast approaching a full guerrilla war. After discussing the matter with my boss Hamish it was clear if I wanted to stay in Rhodesia I would have to do my call-up. That January my brother-in-law Lindsay had already started his. It was now March 1973, he had left for basic training in Bulawayo in January. Here he made an error of judgement. His intake was the first to have conscripts sent to the regular commando unit, the Rhodesian Light Infantry (RLI). As at that time they were calling for volunteers from conscripts, he thought if he joined them, being in Salisbury, he would be closer to his wife in Chipinga. At that time the regular units looked down on the Territorials, only later when we were fully integrated did they get more respect. Therefore, being the first Territorials in the RLI, his group was given an exceedingly hard time. I mean really hard, his stories about training filled me with so much foreboding. I was determined not to go that same route if asked, rather remain with a territorial unit. I knew the army basic training would be hard. I also knew from experience, soldiers even in peacetime, are fit, aggressive and when drinking like nothing better than a fight, as I often witnessed on the overnight train to London back in the UK. I was under no illusions that it would not be a yearlong camping holiday. I even thought I might get some rugby in, so I decided to go as I had the taste for farming in Africa. I should mention I had no cash to return to the UK anyway. I had cashed in my open return ticket for the Austin Cambridge tin can.
The long and the short of it, I found myself boarding a train at Salisbury Railway Station at 8 pm on a cold Thursday night, it was the 7th of June 1973, on my way to Llewellin Barracks, Bulawayo. There were no tearful ladies crying farewell to me, only the Foxes. I had no worries, it was only for a year then I could get on with my farming life in Rhodesia. Little did I know for the next seven years I would spend more time in uniform than farming.
Final Leg of The AgDevCo Inaugural Flight
After spending a couple of days in Dar-es-Salaam visiting the investment centre, local businesses and other possible investment opportunities, we set off on the fourth leg of our journey heading for Pemba, Cabo Delgado Province in Northern Mozambique. We also discovered the pilot had not taken the plane for inspection following the collision with the vehicle in Ngwazi. Why would he not have done that?
“I have found over the years that many questions I should have asked at the time I never did. Timely questions are effective. Sensible questions are asked at the time. Most questions asked later are mainly to appropriate blame. They certainly cannot change events.”- Peter McSporran
This time we flew down the coast, once again at some ridiculous height. The storms we came across on that flight were on our right over the land, so by going out to sea we could mostly avoid them. We had a wonderful view of the coastline from Dar-es-Salaam to Pemba. Once again Peter took the controls most of the way while our pilot dozed off. We only realised we had become very drowsy from the altitude as we came into land at Pemba. Peter was calling off numbers for the pilot and because I was sitting in the back, I could not see the source, I soon realised he was not reading in sequence. As we drew closer to landing, flying in over the bay even as a non-pilot I could see at our present altitude, we would be landing under the tarmac.
I pointed this out and sure enough, our pilot lifted our nose over the embankment around the bay to land above the tarmac. This incident really shook Peter, as he said he had no idea he had lost some of his senses in flying a long time above 12,500 feet. I am sure if you meet him he will regale you with stories from that adventure. Once in Pemba, we had a brand new luxury hotel, the Avani Beach Hotel, to ourselves. It was built by the Rani Resort Group to cater as a planned stopover for wealthy South African shoppers on their way to Dubai. There were only three other guests in the hotel during our visit, perhaps it is busier now that the gas is being exploited there, although this must be tempered by the rebel group active there recently, the Ansar al-Sunna. I do not think that fight is about religion, more about gas and the money it brings.
While there, we visited some smallholder cashew growers and travelled to see Eco-Energia’s proposed sugar project. I have not mentioned any of the other companies we visited, only this one was so memorable in its staff's arrogance. Their ethanol from sugar cane project may have been viable, except they were some of the rudest people I ever came across on our travels in Africa. They knew it all and some. I am sure they were mostly hired contractors although they acted as if they were owners doing something top secret and only they had the skills to make that project a success. Peter offered them some advice which they ignored, I am sure to their detriment. I do not think that project has developed any further from that day, although large amounts of money may have been spent. A late-night drive back to our luxury accommodation readying for our flight the next day to Lichinga the capital city of Niassa Province of Mozambique. The world over, the term ‘city’ is most confusing! A village can be a town, a town a city, in Africa, a village a city. Lichinga would have fallen into the latter at that time.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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