Words and Photographs by Gero Lilleike
It’s been months since I’ve gone fishing, which is really sad, because there are so many good fishing venues within two hours of Cape Town. There’s simply no excuse for any self-respecting fisherman to not go fishing. Now was my chance and I was more than happy to put my line out. With my lady, our dog and fishing tackle ready, we set off for the town of Bonnievale on a mission to dial into the rhythm of the Breede River and hook into some fish. Or that was the idea, at least.
When it comes to choosing fishing accommodation, location is king. Then I found Bordeaux River Cottages. What a place! Three private timber cottages lie perched high on the steep banks of the Breede River and flanked by beautiful vineyards, this was prime. Wooden decks built into Bluegum trees offer splendid views over the river. And here’s the best part, the final link in the chain, the clincher. Each cottage has its own canoe, the perfect vessel to launch a fishing assault.
Tough Luck Fishing
With its source in the Swartberg Mountains, the Breede River runs some 337 km before reaching the Indian Ocean at Witsands and fish species vary depending on the region being fished. In Bonnievale, bass, barbel and carp are common and since we were hunting bass, we rigged our tackle accordingly. I was keen to give my trusty fly rod a go while my lady would attack using a standard coffee-grinder setup with a Junebug worm. A two-prong offensive was our best shot. Akatski, the dog, would be our fish-spotter. A bit of strategy always helps, you know.
The Breede River is a marvellous place to be, especially in a canoe, which makes exploring the nooks and crannies so much easier. The water was surprisingly clear and we saw plenty large fish cruising around beneath us, which was a positive sign. The river was alive. Birds bickered in a nearby tree and peace soon consumed us. Hours passed, drifting along slowly to the whim of the wind. This is what we came here for.
Then, it happened. The boat rocked with excitement, there was action on my line. Akaski was on high alert and after some splashing and a brief tussle, I had a small-size fish by my side, but what was it? It wasn’t carp or barbel, so my guess was smallmouth bass, but somehow I wasn’t entirely sure.
It didn’t really matter anyway, because over the next four days and despite countless hours of persistent perseverance, the Breede River wouldn’t yield another fish and we were left to drift along with only questions in our minds.
After exhausting our tactics, we set course for the shore, utterly outwitted and defeated. I docked the boat and proceeded with more frivolous things, like making fire and finding answers in the bottom of a wine bottle. That’s fishing for you. There’s always next time.