“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” - John Buchan
Man Flu.
I have a day to write this week's blog as I am going fishing on Tuesday. I would have started writing it over the weekend but went down with a flu or virus of some sort. A man flu, the definition of which is widely but readily diagnosed by Rozanne. We males of the human race immediately go into a verging on death mode when we catch this generic disease while the nearest female relative, normally wife, or female friend is expected to wait on you hand and foot, while at the same time counselling you that death is not quite on your doorstep. Despite the required medicines not only being in the same drawer, but the same place in that same drawer for the last twenty years, when we males are ill, we have to call for help to find them. That is only after the said drawer is turned upside down in our vain search for the elusive drugs. This is more complicated now the product description is in Portuguese. Hints like, “Although you're not dying, I feel you should visit the doctor,” are ignored.
I do not know over the years how many times I have been told by a female that men would never have been strong enough to endure childbirth. It seems we can deal with trauma, wounds and operations but the mystic of some unknown virus and its effects on our body is in our male eyes a clear indication that it may be fatal. They have to run their course adding greatly to our frustration as none of the home medication speeds up the recovery process. Despite being, in my eyes, near death's door because of a flu I have decided to still go fishing and at the end of this short blog will write an even shorter report on the trip.The trip is to a large dam in Portugal, which is called a barragem, in the south of the country, the name of it is Santa Clara. There are a couple of these dams with good stocks of bass but no huge ones. Two to three kilograms are common, four rare, although the Portuguese bass record is four point seven kilograms. I imagine the Portuguese style of fishing, hook and cook, ensures no large fish are left although more and more people are adopting catch and release.
Martinets.
So, the Scottish National Party (SNP) seems to be imploding. Their deceit and not any external political pressure have brought this about. Rather, it is purely due to their own lack of ability to govern and it is run by a martinet ensured that the countless rumours of fraud and corruption were swept under the carpet. Membership numbers were fudged on a grand scale and money earmarked for Independence campaigning has been used for other purposes. There is even a suspicion that the $110,000 luxury camper van is not for the use of Nicola Sturgeon’s ninety-two-year-old mother-in-law, is not for her use, despite it being parked in her driveway.
“Martinet is a person who demands obedience almost to being anal about the smallest detail who is a strict disciplinarian, while not abiding by their own rules nor heeding advice.” - My broader definition of a martinet, Peter McSporran.
In a nutshell, they are bullies who see themselves above the law. They do not mind pointing out the failures of others while vehemently denying their own. Many political commentators have stated it would only be a matter of time before the lack of substance of Nicola Sturgeon's rhetoric and her nationalists would come to light. I never thought for a moment so suddenly and so embarrassingly. The event made me happy, despite being an embarrassed Scot. The pot of misery has much still hidden in it, no doubt to be revealed in the next few months.
I have had a lot of calls, positive and negative about my blog on the present compensation deal. That is, relating to bonds as a form of payment in compensation for our improvements. I should write, perhaps I have a totally different perspective sitting comfortably here in Portugal. I am not pressed for the need of immediate funds with some of my friends saying, “What else can we do?” when considering which box they tick. A similar box was ticked when we were being promised cash as compensation, now the same box promises bonds. We are told by Government and the Compensation Steering Committee (CSC) we have to accept the deal on the table in the form of bonds. When and if redeemed they are likely to be worth very little. We know Government cannot service it’s present debts, yet we kid ourselves they will service what is owed to some white farmers, the very ones they disenfranchised. My ongoing concern is once the ball starts rolling it will be very difficult to stop. In fact, if you eventually sign, you are precluded in taking any further legal action against the state.
“I wonder how much small print will be included in the agreement in accepting bonds. Even in small print, it may well cover a number of pages. A lawyers mecca, a farmers nightmare.” - Peter McSporran.
These are so so many questions that need to be answered and I feel the CSC has become our personal martinet. They know what is best for us, despite our protestations and demands for further clarification. Further, it seems advice is not for them to heed. The SNP used the smokescreen of Independence to mitigate their actions in their loyal constituents, the CSC has got compensation promise.
“Zimbabwean bonds and Scottish Independence will equally be elusive if not just an illusion promoted by the exploiters of your emotions.” - Peter McSporran
I may be wrong, but my gut tells me the deal is a facade and the Government has no intention to honour, knowing full well it will take many years to get approval in Parliament let alone get the necessary legislation for completion. To my friends who have a different opinion to me, only a few I may say, lets hope I am wrong and they are right.
Trip to Georgia.
In 1986 following becoming the groundnut grower of the year I was sent to America by the Oilseeds Association to look at groundnut harvesting machinery and colour sorting equipment for picking the shelled groundnuts. The Grain Marketing Board (GMB) had two shelling plants, a large one at Cleveland just outside Harare and a smaller one at Rusape. The plant in Rusape very much focused on smallholder-produced nuts, in particular everyone's favourite snack peanuts, the Natal Common variety. South Africans had an insatiable demand for this nut and as the smallholders hand-shelled, generally little sorting required, coupled with easy market entry. At Cleveland, they did both the small nuts such as Natal and by that time the large irrigated nut, such as Egret. A large pale-skinned nut, which was to target the European confectionary market, especially Mars through the agent’s Cannon Garth.
Despite having colour sorters from the day of installation, they did not function, so every day hundreds, if not thousands of women came into the depot to hand-pick discoloured and diseased nuts. Aflatoxins were also a challenge with the markets becoming more stringent in its rules. At that time, it was 15 parts per billion, hard to achieve with nuts bulk stored in our hot climate where the nuts readily sweated being high in oil content. I cannot believe it is now 4 parts per billion for entry into Europe. Meanwhile, in the States it is set at 20 parts per billion, once again, technocrats knowing what is best for us without considering the practical implication. To put it in context at 4 parts a billion is one bad nut in two hundred and fifty million, this is too much for the Europeans. Discolouration in a nut normally indicates water or fungal damage both allowing aflatoxins to prosper. It was obvious that hand-picking was neither cost-effective nor time effective. In fact, almost until the next harvest, the GMB would be sorting the previous year's crop. You can imagine how many kilograms were eaten and went out the gate every day with that number of people involved. It was therefore decided to mechanise the process, and while I could not procure for the GMB, I could at least bring back some ideas. As for harvesting, the mainstay in Zimbabwe at that time was the Lilliston groundnut combine, of which I owned three by that time.
My destination was Georgia. This was my very first trip to America despite having friends in the cattle industry there. I was picked up at the airport by the Lilliston representative who was tasked with taking me around farms and processing plants. I had an escort in the form of George Hutchison, the Chief Executive of COPA, to keep me on the straight and narrow. Those who know George will know how conservative he was, his face flushing bright red if a curse was emitted in front of a woman. A gentleman of the old school.
The harvesting, agronomy and land operations were very similar to that of home. I soon learned the treatment of their staff, these often being of colour, was probably a lot worse than ours. Their machinery maintenance and skills were superior, I was surprised at how old some of the equipment was. Most of the rural farmworkers lived in wooden houses that indicated cleanliness was not a priority from my view into their front doors in passing. This was easy as we travelled large distances at fifty-five miles an hour dropping to fifteen miles per hour near villages. When I suggested the presence of police was unlikely in those rural areas, I was told it was the opposite. I should say I kept my eyes to the right or straight ahead as our guide used a plastic cup in the centre console to catch his chewing tobacco spit. This was never emptied before overflowing. I noticed every fifth or sixth house would have a fancy car, on occasion, even a Cadillac outside it. On asking about this, our driver informed me that a number of families would get together to buy a fancy car and have it for a week at a time before handing it onto the next household. This was meant to impress the town-dwelling relatives and friends when they went shopping once a month in the city. Their barbecue ribs were he best I ever tasted and available often in the middle of nowhere.
When it came to handling the crop post-harvest, we were stunned. Hardly a hand touched the nuts. Samples on delivery were taken by robot to ensure no cheating on grades. In Zimbabwe, it was common practice for GMB staff to take a side payment to improve a delivery's grade. It goes on today in many trading houses in Africa. From there, the nuts were shelled as quickly as possible and placed into a cool store. Those were huge insulated warehouses, their insides are sprayed with gunite which when cooled ensures no aflatoxins spread. Well beyond any budget we would have at home. Next week, the rest of the American trip including a visit to a massive groundnut processing plant and fun in Nashville
“Fishing is not catching fish. The problem is you cannot catch fish unless you are fishing. That is why it is so important to enjoy the fishing, not just the catching. So it is with life.” - Peter McSporran
From above you will be assuming we caught little fish. You are correct. While we caught a few, myself only one, we did catch some but had a lovely day and a half fishing with Ricardo from Bass Catch Santa Clara who has excellent knowledge of the dam, the required fishing techniques and a top-of-the-range bass motor fully equipped. This was my fourth time with them, Joaquim, his father has also taken us before. Both are excellent, no-hassle hosts with plenty of beer, sandwiches and cake for the day. You only have to bring yourself and suitable clothing, everything else is provided. Their service and accommodation being second to none and although Ricardo caught maybe about ten fish, we did much poorer not from trying.
“If you want to know when the best time to go fishing is, it is the week before I go or the week after.” - Peter McSporran
For your interest, the dam is about 163 square kilometres in size and very deep but due to lack of rain in the South of the country is only about 20% full. We will return, maybe when the weather is warmer as it was unseasonably cold there this week. At least I lost the flu there.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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