Posted on Leave a comment

What do boiled eggs, oranges, and bananas have in common, on a boat?

Bananas - banned on boats!

What do boiled eggs, oranges, and bananas have in common, on a boat?

Boat superstition! That’s what!

We were travelling into a head-sea, and had gotten 5 miles off Maputo, past Xefina Island and nearing the turning channel buoy, when caotain of the good ship Joker Bino Nordine shouted – “What’s to eat?”

I readily hollered back – “You want a banana?”

The boat nearly came to a dead stop as Bino hauled back the throttles, eyes widened with dismay.

“Bananas!, Where are they!”, he cried.

I jumped forward and got my food bag, and before I could react, Bino had my hand of delicious finger bananas, and threw them overboard! In a flash!

His expression came back to normal. Julio Rito, guest on the boat – was on his back, rolling with laughter. And there I stood, gobsmacked.

“Very bad luck bananas bru! We never take bananas!”, went Bino as he grabbed a cheese roll and smashed it.

And so off we went, and had a great days fishing!

Now down in the Cape, I know that boiled eggs are out. And on some boats in Natal – oranges. But wondering what other forbidden fishing fruit or food might be on the list, I did some research.

Bananas are definitely out! Boiled eggs do get a mention. Oranges turn out to be good luck. But bananas take the cake.

Turns out that in days gone by, of sail not steam, bananas were a logistical challenge for maritime personnel, to say the least. They were the first to ripen and therefore could hasten the ripening of other fruit on the ship. They stink when they rot. They carried poisonous spiders in the bunch with them and bit the crew, sometimes fatally. When a ship sinks, all it’s bananas float to the top, so when other seafarers come across a wreck site, all they find are the bananas suspiciously in amongst the flotsam! And then the dedicated banana boats – as they were termed, had to go really fast, and so could never put a line out to fish. Hence if you worked on a banana boat, you never caught anything!

To come on a dream fishing trip (with or without bananas) with The Sardine team, click on over to our tour offerings here…

https://thesardine.co.za/product-category/fishing-experiences/

Catch us on Facebook at…

https://web.facebook.com/thesardine.co.za/

Or just get in touch on umzimkulu@gmail.com and we can get the ball rolling…

Posted on Leave a comment

Guinjata Kingfish

Guinjata Kingfish

Guinkata kingfish in the early morning – working at Guinjata in Southern Mozambique, left me with many indelible memories. Fortunately, as it turned, as kids, we grew up with two ruffians named Ralph and Greg Jones – and it was this very same Ralph, that I was now working with – fishing together with Seabound Charters! Our Dads had fished together in the seventies, our Mom’s ratted us all out together. We had fought and ambushed each other daily…and here we were, fishing for marlin together, 40 years later!

Guinjata kingfish are best hunted down with Seabound Charters in Guinjata
Guinjata kingfish are best hunted down with Seabound Charters in Guinjata.

We were running three boats back then, this was a good ten years ago (2007 odd), Ralph Snr, Ralph Jnr and then me. Launch time was set at 7am each day. This gave time to skirt the beach with a spinning stick each morning, before getting into the shorebreak. This particular morning, I had found a shoal of angry baby kingfish, that were being sucker punched by my little red fly – tied half a metre in front of my dropshot.

The Mydo dropshot got the rig way out the back and presented the fly in mid to top water as it dragged through the shorebreak, about 10 metres out. Bang on literally every time. I was having such a blast and this particular morning, had caught and gently released about 30 of the beautiful little kingies. Glorious.

I almost never noticed the little kid sitting up the beach watching me.

But eventually he approached me with a defiant posture and gait, and blurted out in Portuguese – “Se você deixar um peixe mais, eu chamarei a polícia”.

Translated means…

“If I let one more fish go, he would call the police?!?!”

Estimated 60kg GT released in southern Mozambique.
Estimated 60kg GT released in southern Mozambique. Just a few clicks north of Guinjata

To fish the crystal clear and warm waters of Mozambique, browse the Tips and Travel menu item at the top of the The Sardine News.

Posted on Leave a comment

A brace of couta at Hibberdene by the Posthumous brothers

The Posthumous brothers with their ultimate brace of couta. Ask these brothers about ways to catch couta!

Flashback to 17 June 2007: A brace of couta at Hibberdene by the Posthumous brothers

A brace of couta at Hibberdene by the Posthumous brothers: The sardines had come at last.

Trucks, cars, bikes, planes…were buzzing up and down the lower south coast of KZN Natal like bees. Every man and his dog was on the chase. The scent of sardine hung in the air and it was making people a bit crazy.

The Posthumous brothers with their ultimate brace of couta. Ask these brothers about ways to catch couta!
The Posthumous brothers with their ultimate brace of couta. Ask these brothers about ways to catch couta!

But not the Posthumous brothers Louis and Dawdie.

They were completely focused on their umpteenth sardine run. But they weren’t after sardines. They had their big sticks ready to fly with perfectly maintained and serviced ancient Penn reels. These are two of the best anglers I have ever met. Total dedication. Perfect equipment. From bay to bay the two brothers hunted. Headland to headland. Lookout to lookout.

Eventually the trail led further up the coast to Hibberdene, and the Posthumous brothers were onto it. They parked their car in the old carpark, and scrambled. Guns loaded. Hibberdene is a great spot for an ambush and as the two brothers got to a place in the rocks they could cast from. A bait ball of sardines boiled on the backline.

These guys cast. Huge casts, and perfectly aimed every time. Time after time. They were fishing their own couta spoons. The same ones they use so successfully off the ski-boat. Moulded at home. Hand tied with wire. Double everything. Heavy duty. Huge hooks. For heavy duty fish.

Oh yes, and very shiny! Using secret methods to get the metal glass smooth and ultra-reflective.

The two brothers let fly at the same time. The twin white metal missiles went straight for the early morning sun and the sardines boiling the surface up. The pair of spoons landed on the glassy ocean and bounced, and dropped into the clear backline water.

They both hooked up. Simultaneously!

Two big and angry crocodile couta!

The fish screamed off together threatening to burn each other off.

For 40 minutes they each fought their quiet battles.

Both winning – they pulled their twin fish up the beach!

A brace of couta at Hibberdene by the Posthumous brothers.

(BTW, I sure I hope I got this story all exactly right, it was a long time ago!)

Check out our YouTube Channel right HERE.

The Sardine News

Posted on Leave a comment

Down to The Umdloti Beach with JP Bartholomew

Down to The Umdloti Beach

“Another incredible story and gallery of photos from our newest contributor, JP Batholomew…this time at Umdloti Beach, one opf JP’s favourite hangouts. Luckily JP advocates catch and release – luckily, or there would be far less fish left in the ocean!”


December, four days after Full Moon I hit Umdloti beach.The weather conditions were good and the sea was fairly calm and clean with the water temp at 19c – still nicely chilled. It was time to embark on My quest to catch those elusive Giant Blue Shad on fly. I was kitted out with my Xplorer 902 Pro Cast 8/9 Wt rod with an intermediate line and my favourite GT Deep Diver Flies in Pink, Orange, Chartreuse, tied on a 5/0 Mustard 34007 s/s hooks.

I started fishing my normal stretch around 04:45am on the incoming tide. I know from past experience that I have the best chance of catching these Giant Shad in the same spot at this time of the year. Making the longest casts as possible I began by probing the deeper channels and gullies, allowing the fly to sink for  about 10 seconds before I began a fast retrieve. I also tried casting the fly over rocky ledges where the waves break and create white water. The Shad love hunting in this water, using it as cover to ambush baitfish hiding behind or under structure.

Soon after I started, in the middle of a fast retrieve I went tight and I was into My first Blue Shad on an Orange GT fly. It put up a ferocious fight, jumping out of the water, trying to throw the hook. Big shad are fast ,powerful fish that will strip your line off your reel at an awesome pace and will fight to the very edge of its strength. I fished Umdloti Beach almost everyday that week and succeeded in catching and releasing four Gaint Shad  – two on fly and two on Rapala X-Raps.

The following week I returned to Umdloti again with my trusty 8/9Wt fly rod and this time tied a Pink GT Deep Diver. This time I started fishing as the sun started breaking through the clouds on the horizon. The water was still cold and sea conditions were still good.
On My third or fourth cast I managed to get good distance.  I started my retrieve and when the fly came into the shorebreak the line went tight. My line started peeling off my reel really fast and I used my hand to slow it down by holding in on the rim of the reel as I had no time to fiddle with the drag.
Eventually, I was able to start getting line back on my reel. I couldn’t get a good look at the fish, but it didn’t feel like a shad. I thought it might be a kingfish so I kept rod  up and applied  as much pressure on the line as I thought rather safe then sorry,retrieving line as quickly as possible and hoping not to get cut off on the rocks.
It was only when I got the fish closer and it broke the surface that I saw had hooked into a Dusky Kob – My first on fly. I have been fighting this area  stretch for seven years and I’ve never heard of a Kob coming out,never mind on fly at Umdloti. After a photo or two I successfully returned him back to the sea to fight another day.
That same week I flyfishing off Sensation Rock’s using a Flashy  Profile fly,I hooked into a Natal Stumpnose of about 1.3 kg which had  Me jumping and bouncing around on the rocks like a Penguin holding on for dear life. I was not ready to lose a Natal  Stumpnose on fly! The fish put a tremendous fight but I finally managed to bring it into the bay and beach it. I was so tired and sore from jumping all over the rocks but I had  landed My first Natal  Stumpnose on fly – what an adrenaline rush a beauty of a fish too.

I really enjoyed targeting the various species and loved it when all my planning – getting flies for specific Spiece’s, fishing the correct tides and area’s you know should hold the fish you are targeting – the success and results will follow. I always like to study tide’s, Moon phases and is always good to know your sea conditions of the stretch you going to be fishing. I prefer fishing early morning’s – long before most Anglers hit the waters. Your results are always worth it.

Tight line’s, practice catch and release remember let go let grow let your fish roam free…..

Cheers JP.

Posted on Leave a comment

Saltwater Pilgrim: Tofo Chicks let loose in Indo

Tofo Chicks Let Loose in Indo

Lucy Small can wield a keyboard as good as she can a surfboard. She also strikes a good pose! However, it was on that headland behind Lucy, that she was attacked and soome creep in undoes tried to rape her. She bravely decided that this was not going to happen, and fought back, beating her attacker off and back into the bush where the savage came from! Nice Lucy, girl power!
Introducing surf adventurer and scribe – Lucy Small (Saltwater Pilgrim)

International surf adventurer Lucy Small (Oz) can wield a keyboard as good as she can a surfboard. She also strikes a good pose! Lucy and her friend Anna MaCauly have been chasing the dream all over the world, but as you can clearly see from Lucy’s writing, Africa is calling her home. So we’ve added a new column called Surf Travel and Lucy is about to fire that up.

All this travelling and high adventure comes at high stakes though. It was on that headland behind Lucy in this shot taken of her paddling on my inside (Tofinho Point, Praia do Tofo, Inhambane, Southern Mozambique), that she was attacked and some creep in undies tried to sexually assault her. She bravely decided that this was not going to happen, and fought back vehemently, beating her attacker off and back into the bush where the savage came from! Nice Lucy, girl power!

Lucy has recently joined thesardine.co.za as a scribe and her very nicely put together blog can be read right here…Follow Lucy Small at her Saltwater Pilgrim blog.

In the meantime, her latest caper, involving none other than Tofo girls Mel Rodriguez and Ghiz Laine – an unbelievable crew, is in and around Indonesia scouring the place for waves and kicks…reads below.

Imagine bumping into that bunch over there hey?! Wowser!

And over to you Lucy (in the sky…)…

“I touched down in Bali at one in the morning. A small guy, probably called Made, flagged me down and drove me into the wet streets of Denpasar and eventually a dark complex somewhere vaguely near Dreamlands.

 

I was greeted in the driveway by Renet, Plettenberg bay native and stewardess of international waters and Melanie, Spanish surfer babe and longtime resident of Tofo, Mozambique.

 

I didn’t really want to be in Indo. To be frank. There were a gazzilion other destinations with far greater allure that I could think of going with the limited cash in my bank account, but I was never going to let the debauchery of the paradise islands slip by without my attendance.

 

So there I was. Sitting on the floor of an apartment, blurry eyed and sleepless, with familiar faces and mosquitoes lurking all too close to my ear lobes. For all I knew, I could have been right back in Tofo.

 

We had one scooter between us. The following evening saw us missioning to Dreamlands, three chicks, three boards and one scooter wandering through the jungle. The waves were cooking, the post sunset drive home was a hazardous one. Eventually, after a few wrong turn, no phones, no money and no petrol, racing to get back in time to dance the Sunday night away, we ran into some friendly South Africans who pointed us in the right direction.

 

“What on earth are you ladies doing out here?” they said.

 

Not sure.

 

It was a good way to kick off the trip.

 

We had to bail from the party after a few days, heading west to the quiet village of Balian. The wave is an A-frame peak, set against a black sand beach and murky rivermouth. It breaks over river stones, having a distinctly sharky vibe, made even worse by the stories from the locals – probably made up to keep the wave count up and the surfer count down.

 

There were a few days that it cooked, our lives became early morning stumbles to the waters edge, lunch time mie goreng in a tiny warung with the same sun affected Australian and backhand hacks as best we could.

 

Collapsing in bed as the sun disappeared.

 

We drove into the jungle one afternoon. Craving the wind in our hair as we flew into the mountains on our break-free, automatic scooters. Cocks fought in the street and people waved at us like they had never seen foreigners before.  Eventually, after frantically pointing us in the direction of fried rice, we sat in a tiny shop, eating some version of strange food and taste testing samples in plastic bags, which could have been pretty much anything.

 

Bali has the kind of views to make you wet yourself. Some might say that you want ‘drink in’ the scenery, but I’m more inclined to say I want to chop it up with my credit card and put it up my nose. It’s addictive to say the least. This impromptu drive into the mountains was no different.

 

Eventually we got sick of the simple life and took a boat across to Nusa Lemongan. A tiny island just of Bali, undergoing some drastic developments as more and more cashed up foreigners make themselves comfortable.

 

After our transport boat nearly getting dumped on a reef we were amping for the swell on its way up from Western Australia. Spending the afternoon nearly getting washed off the island in a turning tide current, the following day was a whole different story.

 

The island is basically set up with three main breaks next to each other -each varying in direction and difficulty.  We stayed in front of Shipwrecks, a hollow right-hander where we pretty much moved only between the waves and the bar.

 

With the arrival of Ghizlane, our fourth counterpart – Moroccan seastress and Tofinho local, along with some serious swell, we all spent some serious time with the reef on our second day. Stumbling up the beach one after the other, our dreams of barrels for breakfast all but shattered.

 

By the following day though, I had it wired. Some of the bombs of my life. A half hour dream session with only girls out and water so clear I could see sharp fangs of coral through the wave face.

 

We returned to the mainland that afternoon, in the pouring rain. Dancing the Sunday away over the cliffs of Uluwatu.

 

There were no more waves to speak of, so we turned to the bottle (long-neck Bintangs specifically) until finally we our last night took us to the fish market. South African expats, Marshall living in Sumba, Lance in Bukit, Sue and Rohan, at Dreamlands, all of whom had been to Tofo, Sue and Rohan having lived there in a past life as well.

 

Krusty, also a part-time resident of Tofo, played his guitar as the sun sunk below the shimmering waterline. Blocking out the stench of decaying fish was the six kilogram tuna before us and the mountains of shellfish. Delicacies in numbers I would never see at home.

 

I could have sat at the table forever.

 

Krusty’s voice fading in and out of the conversations, occasionally accompanied by the others that knew his songs.

 

I flew out early in the morning. Teary at saying goodbye.

 

Wishing my flight was to Africa. Not bloody Australia.”

 

Hey Krusty you got a mention man! Nicey nice!

Thank you Lucy, for joining up with thesardine.co.za and sharing your awesome life and views with us.

Your Czek is in the mail!

Another Lucy Small anecdote, My Last Day in Africa, can be read by clicking right here… My Last Day in Africa by Lucy Small

 

 

Posted on 1 Comment

Pomene dreamin’…

Pomene dreamin’…

After having driven from Port Shepstone to Vilancoulos, and then back to Pomene, we were pretty worn out travellers when we made camp somewhere down on the Pomene estuary..
But waking up to that glorious scene – the ocean to the East, and the estuary to the West – in a bright red sunlit morning, made all the creaks and squeaks go away quicker than coffee on a fire can do the job.
The tide was a bit high still, and the waves a bit low, so the four of us undid our tangle of rods and reels, and headed out to the nearest channel within the estuary. Abu – our guide and translator, Supergirl (Sharene Berry), Gareth Powell and me, spread out along the channel and started casting into the clear slow moving blue water. Pure magic.
Once the chatter had settled down, the silence left us completely alone in our new world. But what was that? Some wierd crashing sound every now and then. A very watery sound, a very exciting sound. But we could not figure it out.
So we moved in it’s direction – across the vaste sandbanks and into the offshore breeze, towards the main channel, where it unfolded before us. The sound was that of baitfish being smashed up against the side of the channel and onto the shallow sandbanks where they were being picked off by other members of the gang, all taking turns. KINGFISH!
Sound travels for miles over water and plains, and by the time we got there (going knee deep into some of the quicksand like patches on the sandbank), we were exhausted. But Supergirl, Gareth and I staggered up to the edge and cast…!
Bang, bang, bang…the three of us vas at the same time. Gareth was ultra light so he took off down the sandbank towards the ocean frantically trying to keep pace with his fish. Supergirl took a stand with her stronger outfit and soon subdued and released her first kingfish of the day. She proceeded to catch more, luckily only the smaller ones went for her lure. I, on the other hand, had hooked what felt like a bus when it hammered my little white dropshot. No change in speed or direction – just bang, and vas! I had a brand new Shimano Calcutta and Nexage with 7kg line, so I dug in deep and an epic battle ensued. I tried to keep him inside the estuary but he slowly dragged me down towards Gareth who was still trying to show some muscle with his 4kg bass outfit. Ha ha!
Time dragged on and Gareth and I crossed paths a number of times, passing encouragement and cheer all the while. Supergirl kept catching more smallies, up to about 5kg’s each, and releasing them quick sticks, as she does. Neither Gareth nor myself had seen our fish and we were speculating GT’s when all of a sardine, Gareth’s line popped! Luckily he only had a small dropshot head and plastic with a short leader, so he fish will have survived the forced release just fine. My fish however, started to slow and next thing I was getting him back up into the estuary, where it had just become slack water, he had no more current to use against me. Then I saw him – yellow – but big. He did not like the look of me and tore away again. Supergirl caught and released yet another kingfish to add to her tally for the day.
Abu saw some sense in the situation and ran back to the cooler in the camp, for beer. We were gonna be a while! Gareth was onto another, luckily one he could manage easily enough with his newly tied leader and flourocarbon trace. At one stage, I walked in about a metre deep fighting my fish and was soon surrounded by angry kingfish of all sorts that had chased Gareth’s lure right into the shallows. Many times, there were fish shallower than us – it’s how they hunt, their mates drive the baitfish up the banks where the rest of the gang devours them. Sometimes they even swim on their sides! In inches of water.
A crowd had quickly then gathered on the other side of the channel. They were enjoying the sport as much as we were, shouting encouragement until…my fish finally gave in and came to see who I was. I steered him into the shallows and jumped on the poor guy. He was beat. So was I! Luckily the hook came out easy and I took him into the channel of swift moving water for revival. He was a big, strong fish and the gentle current soothed his gills and with a wave of his tail, was gone free.
When the crowd across the river realised that I had voluntarily let him go, they became mildly annoyed, shaking fists and hurling curses at me, for allowing all that good food to go free…
Africa!

A few great shots by Branko Milonovich, taken at Pomene on a more recent trip…All rights reserved.

There is a new lodge in Pomene – on the north bank…perfectly situated for fishing these crazy waters…click here for more information and photos.

pomene-paradise

Posted on Leave a comment

St. Patricks Day in Indonesia

St. Patricks Day in Indonesia

Two Irish. Two Saffer. Two Ozzie. Six kids from the Channel Islands. A few more scragglers. And a girl.
Lucky, the agent.

Indonesia. Hankering to get to Desert Point…winter, 2003.

“$250 Get’s you Desert Point…one week on beeeg boat. All foood. All driiink.”, goes Lucky. “Whoohoo!”, go me and Roosta.

Jam into tiny vans, millions of boards and the crew grows to full strength of 16, by the time we reach the harbour, where a big dhow will take us to our even bigger dhow – an hour away. So much stuff. So much heat. So much noise. Then peace as we set sail on towards our new home. And there it is. Three storeys of colour and grace. Just beautiful. Huge. Wooden. Home…

By now, Bintang’s are out, ice cold. Chickens are roaming the deck unexpectantly. Food cooking. Music playing. Even surf videos on a tv in the huge dorm like cabin. Bunks. Smells. Just amazingly what we expected.

Three engines, Yamaha Enduros. 40hp Each. 80ft Boat. And a skiff, and off we go. Gently humming along to music and waves. Soon enough though, the first of our problems. One engine splutters to a standstill. A third of our power gone. Not enough speed to get to Deserts. Pull over and parallel park at an enchanting island in the middle of the ocean.

One engine loaded onto skiff, the other tied to the back, and off they go. Getting engine repaired. Hours go by. We snorkel. Talk shit. Swim. I swim to the island. There are people. I rent a bike, and discover that the island is loaded with Arak wine. I buy 5 litres altogether and swim back out to the boat, where the Irish and the Ozzies and us annihilate the 5 litres, ok, over another hour.

Skiff returns, the music is blaring. Engines attached back onto big boat. Skipper says he doesn’t want to cross the deep channel this late, we might not make it by dark. We refuse to accept this prognosis and vehemently demand weighing of anchor and immediate departure.
16 Of us win the argument and next thing we are sailing across this hugely deep channel. A sailfish pops up next to us, fin and all. What kind of omen could that be, I wonder. The Irish brothers proclaim that it’s St. Patrick’s Day and we all join in for a Bintang and a dance on the open deck as the sun bids farewell…

It gets dark.

The boat slows to almost nothing as the crew makes out the headland in front of us. Somebody return flashes a torch, we must be there!

All of a sudden. Lightning and thunder comes out of the blackness. And a torrential downpour hits us, whiting us out completely – cannot see a thing. Just spray. 10 Minutes drifting, the sea getting a bit more interested in us by now. The only girl on the trip has proclaimed lesbianism but I don’t believe her and am on the third floor extolling to her the benefits of male anatomy when out of the corner of my eye, I see…a wave. A breaking wave coming up behind us at 45 degrees. It hardly moves the “ship” as it first strikes, but as it moves along the hull, it picks us up completely and propels us forward and sideways – straight down smack bang onto the very reef that is Desert Point. The outriggers are built from huge logs and are about a half metre by a half metre. They just snapped like matches as they impacted – lurching the huge ship around as we bounced ashore.

Chaos. “Save yourselves! Save yourselves!”, is the cry from the stricken crew.

In a moment of clarity, we all don reef shoes. It’s all we can do as wave after wave batters us further an further onto the reef. The tide is coming in. The chickens are going out! The TV topples out of the window, and then a huge pot of chicken curry leaves the kitchen for a swim. Roosta and stay on the boat as the rest of the gang spread out to make a human chain with which to scuttle the ship. Waves keep coming. Roosta and I got into the cabin to get whatever we could, especially looking for pasports to hand up and off to safety. A big wave breaks, we grab the masts and hold tight as possible to no avail – the power of the impact throws us both around like rag dolls. Get most of the stuff out. Now the petrol. About 20 drums on the stinky stuff that we did not want to allow near the pristine reef.

After midnight, we have formed a laager with the fuel, water, supplies, boards all around us. Small fires are going and no-one is really having fun. The locals had come out in their droves and with no regard for personal space, literally sat on our laps as they pored though our belongings with that envious curiosity so prevalent in these lost outer island communities. Roosta stayed awake and on guard as the adrenalin wore off and peeps collapsed all around. I was almost out when something crawled over my face. And again. My neck. my feet. I grabbed one. Crabs! Millions of crabs made sure I never slept much either.

The dawn broke red and more beautiful than ever. We were shipwrecked. For real. No cellphone signal. No nothing.

May aswell go surfing as the last of the swell enticed us into her arms. Desert Point is a perfect wave, it was much smaller by now, but it is a perfect wave, and has been called the most perfect wave in the world, a few times, before.
Whilst we were surfing, the two Ozzie captains and an Irishman had set off for help, and came back at lunch time with a 4wd truck, that could load us all, and take us through Dengue infested forests on a four day journey, to a port, where we would have to pay more dollars, to get all the way back to Bali! We had no choice, and started loading.

All of a sudden, around the headland, came the apparition representing a three masted yacht of absolute beauty. It happened to be the dude who used to captain the boat used in The Crossing, sea testing his own brand new second hand sailing beauty! Seeing our wrecked vessel he sent a skiff ashore to check things out and then offered to rescue us for $5 each!

The skiff spent an hour loading and off loading kit and surfboards, and by the end of it we were sweating buckets and so decided to swim out to the anchored yacht a few hundred meters off shore. And so we swam. And swam. And were soon whisked away into the deep by the infamous Desert Point current carrying billions of tonnes of water and thousands of tiger sharks through one of the deepest gulfs on the globe!

Only a handful of the group that attempted the swim made, I wasn’t one of them – swimming with a hat on…but the skiff rounded us all up and soon we were drinking ice cold bintangs…

…and sailing away from our shipwrecked crew on Desert Point, Lombok Island, Indonesia.

Posted on Leave a comment

You never know until you see the colour…by Dave Sproston

You never know until you see the colour…by Dave Sproston

Memoirs: by Dave Sproston

Digital
Dave Sproston with a couple of delicious geelbek caught back in the days when…

 

Way back in 1990, I ran a small charter fishing operation from Shelly Beach, Kwazulu Natal. I skippered my own boat, a 17ft. Ace Craft with twin Yamaha 85’s, but maybe I will cover the specs of this amazing craft later on.Anyway, on this particular day I had two guys who had chartered the boat for the morning, we normally launched at first light and we’re back by lunchtime, and set off for the Protea Banks, a fifteen minute ride, to look for some YFT ( Yellowfin Tuna).

Continue reading You never know until you see the colour…by Dave Sproston